Doctor Crane's Ugly Little Stepping Stones
by stripesthetiger11
Summary: Sequel to The Mad Hatter's Guide to Happiness. After the events of the road trip, Jonathan finds himself going through an identity crisis, one that his Hatter friend tries hard to pull him out of despite his own instabilities.
1. Pre-Show

"Love."

"Union."

"Friends."

"Acceptance."

"Scarecrow."

"Terror."

 _Oh you flatter me._

Jonathan momentarily shut his eyes in brief irritation, before signaling for the doctor to continue.

"Doctor."

"Patient."

"Patient."

"Illness."

"Jervis."

 _Pest._

He paused, glancing away in a manner that would not go unnoticed. "Inane." The doctor paused, taking a moment to pen down unknown details in the shrinking space of the page.

"God."

"Mistakes."

"Grandmother."

"Pain."

"Crows."

"Escape."

"Sister."

 _Naivety._

He stopped, that stolid mask only breaking for a moment to rub the sleeplessness from his eyes. "Half-sister," he corrected, leaving curt response as his answer. "I'll leave it there for now," the doctor spoke softly, placing her notebook flat on her lap, but still hidden from his gaze. "Your subtlety is lacking, Dr. Barnaby," he could only reply, his gaze one of restless contempt. "I much prefer the straightforward alternative."

"Well you're doing much better, Crane," she told him in a vain attempt to provide sole friendly reassurance. "We've decided to put you back on the normal schedule starting today,

during the exercise period." Crane showed no elation for the sudden leap forward in progress, but it was clear he approved from the way he slowly sat back with professional mannerisms typical of the former psychiatrist. Doctors had learned to pick up on many of their patients' most subtle cues, and as stoic as Jonathan liked to think himself, he knew even he had some indicators that gave him away. Jonathan had his exercise period, but due to his recovery, he had been given a time completely separate from the rest of the asylum, with other recovering patients. He always had been quite the shut-in, but with the passing weeks he had craved for greater conversation than the scripted dialogue from the staff. "That's only a few hours away, Doctor," he noted, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. "I suppose there are some final inquiries that you would like to bring up before I inevitably get thrown back into the madhouse."

"Only a few," she confirmed, looking back down at her notes to remind herself of what she wanted to pursue. "Scarecrow." _You rang?_ "What about them?" Jonathan questioned, ignoring those intrusive thoughts of his alter ego. "Is he still prominent within your mind?" Barnaby continued. _No._ "Yes," he answered honestly. Catching her underlying surprise at his truth in the brief moment of speechlessness, he continued. "They've always been prominent, Doctor. My toxin, however, seemed to only amplify their presence in a way I haven't experienced since childhood." Barnaby's glazed-over shock was more that evident, but she supposed it was only a matter of time before answers were spilled. Crane always refused to speak of the contents of his thoughts, but ever since his time trapped in the medical wing due to extreme psychosis brought on by his own chemical, that blanket of exhaustion never seemed to completely lift away. Of course, this information was nothing new to them, but the sudden spout of honesty certainly wasn't expected, but not unappreciated. Crane had been the subject of a tireless effort by the doctors ever since they heard of that meeting with the Mad Hatter, and it seemed their work was not going unrewarded. Over the past month, the former psychiatrist was letting previous unknowns slip through self-made cracks, a more than positive sign for the Arkham staff. She wanted to dig a bit deeper, but with their limited time and knowing Crane would only shut down with more targeted questions, she decided to move on. "How have you and Savannah been getting along?" The mention of his half-sister brought about no visible disgust, a much preferable reaction compared to months before. These subtle changes were what fueled hope among the doctors, especially with the recent development with the sporadic meetings with the young visitor. "The girl is naïve," he told her simply. "She speaks to me as though she believes me to be a close sibling."

"Does that bother you?" Barnaby asked him. Crane canted his head ever so slightly, taking a moment to consider the question. "I know that should she see me outside this asylum, her attitude would be far different."

"How can you be sure of that?" she questioned, to which she received a suspicious gaze. "I know," he responded brusquely. "You wouldn't fear a bear in the zoo but you would quiver upon seeing it near your campsite." Barnaby feared her ink would run out soon. "Are you the bear?" she prodded. "Only if you're comfortable with being the camper," Jonathan retorted shortly. It was clear from his curt responses that he was growing bored of the questions, and so she moved on to another topic. "Let's talk about your past relationships," she suggested. This time his distaste showed, narrowed eyes flickering to the clock that slowly dragged time along and lips forming a brief grimacing arch. "I assume this is because of Tetch?" he stated more matter-of-factly than as a real question. "He isn't the subject of this conversation, Jonathan," she told him, although not denying his claim. Doctors shouldn't lie to their patients after all. "If so, then why bring it up?" was his rebuttal. "After all, we've had this conversation— last year if memory serves. Don't you tell me you've lost the notes."

"I believe you were lying," Barnaby argued, keeping a reserved tone. "How can you be sure of that?" he quoted, his knack for the ironic and symbolic rising up once more. "Are you willing to tell me the truth?" she prodded, prompting a noticeable grimace. "Possibly," he answered, keeping the answer to the train of comments ambiguous, but she was persistent. "Was what you told us before the truth?" That struck the right chord given the lack of an immediate response. Crane seemed to wait the seconds away as his gaze once again turned back to the clock mounted above the doorway. She thought he was going to wait out their session as he was known to do given his unshakable manner, but once his hands folded into his lap, she knew she had something. "Intimate relationships?" he asked, clarifying the question. "Yes," she encouraged, pen at the ready. "Have you ever been in one?" Previously the answer had always been a resounding "no". Subsequent questions about his singlehood and his feelings about it were met with curt answers. However, this time yielded far more fruitful results.

"Of course," was his answer. "Many?" the doctor asked, the pen once again meeting paper. "Only a few," he replied, watching her hand move in tight rhythm. His own hand moved up to his neck, rubbing it slowly as he failed to hear that voice of his inner monster make any comment. He felt a craving he wouldn't dare confess. "Men or women?" she pressed, bringing about a quirk of the brow. "Now, that's more a question of curiosity rather than necessity, dear doctor," he criticized, a polite smile raising his lips at her evident embarrassment. It was best that she moved on like nothing happened. "Would you say that these relationships were healthy?" she instead inquired. Eye contact was broken as he took a moment to once again watch the clock, listening to that silent ticking that only sounded within his mind with each leap of the second hand. "They were always the one to end the relationship," he responded. "I can become too much at times." Barnaby paused, looking up from her notebook with a knitted brow. "I don't believe I understand," she told him, beckoning an elaboration. "I can't help myself sometimes, Doctor," he spoke, his edged tone making it clear that was the end of their interrogation. "I believe our session has timed out, Miss Barnaby."

* * *

Edward cleared his throat, recapturing the focus of his acquaintance. Jervis blinked, grimacing at his own resting uncomfortable nature as he gave him an apologetic gesture of the hand. "You aren't off your medication, are you?" Nygma sighed, rolling down gray uniform sleeves after a gust of wind brought a new intolerable chill from the already wintry environment. The recent cold front was not a welcomed visit to the residents of the already frigid atmosphere of the asylum. "Oh no no," Jervis denied softly, lacing his fingers together as nervous habit. He found it unpleasant how there was no longer a barrier where his hands would meet. Something about being able to touch his own chilled skin was oddly upsetting to a mind that wasn't as frayed as it usually was. "Is it Dr. Picard?" Ed guessed next, bringing up Jervis' assigned psychiatrist. The name alone brought about a heavy groan and massaged temples. "Oh he's quite the flea in my coat," Tetch didn't deny. "The man treats me like a child. Our session starts just after the period." Heavy eyes connected with his companion's, who had seemed triumphant in his momentary victory. "However, that as not what I was thinking about." As Ed donned a look of tenuous annoyance, Tetch looked back at the wider area of the courtyard where Gotham's most abhorrent enjoyed their free time. Edward let his gaze rise to the same direction where he noticed the odd scene of Harley and a few other lesser known inmates hiding under a bench. A few seconds would pass before a crow landed nearby. Poor girl made a valiant effort to catch the birds by surprise, leaping out with the grace of a goose defending its territory in a fruitless effort to catch one of the corvids. All she received was a feather the bird had left behind. Being the sweet girl she was, she graciously gave the feather to one of the other men that had tried in vain to catch the crow, offering a praise that went unheard by the criminals watching. "Is it Harley?" Nygma questioned, looking back at Jervis, who donned an uncomfortable expression; while Harley's endeavors were indeed entertaining, his gaze was instead locked on to where the bird had decided to land. It was then that the always cognizant Riddler remembered the murder of crows that had sat themselves onto the slanted roofing of the asylum. "It's the birds," he recognized.

"They've been roosting here lately. Usually we only have pigeons," Tetch noted, looking up at them with an unsure expression. "Well according to the guard, Crane's been getting his own exercise period ever since he recovered from his psychosis," Nygma offered his explanation. "You know they're attracted to him like Joker to crazy or Firefly to fire." A smirk came to his face. "You aren't scared of them, are you?" Jervis seemed unamused by the accusation, opening his mouth to refute him, but only ending with a less than confident "Well, I don't believe they're too fond of me."

"They're crows. They're not fond anyone but Crane," Nygma sighed, taking a seat at the stone table Tetch was currently resting at. The two proceeded to watch a couple of inmates chase around a giggling Mary Dahl, apparently finding it to be a fun little game. At her beckoning, she actually got Harley and Valentin to join in, getting their exercise in by seeing who was the more able criminal. Harley, given her agile physique and years of practice, was unsurprisingly the winner at the end of the game, flaunting her victory after successfully tagging the child-like woman. It was probably for the best that Lazlo didn't win, as most believed it wouldn't have ended too well if he had. It was almost inane, thinking men who were considered masterminds among the media were placed alongside a few of the mentally ill that found joy in such games like tag. Out of everyone, Nygma found himself to be the most out of place among this group of crazies he considered to be his inferiors. The way he scoffed at the very sight of the childish game let his thoughts be more than clear. Jervis found his contempt to only be amusing; everyone did. Edward could be haughty and complain about the insult of him being placed in an asylum all he wanted, for everyone knew the true nature that sprouted up from his relentless obsessions was more than enough to warrant the court's ultimate decision. Even still, Tetch found himself a friend in the narcissist, finding the fact that Nygma endured his presence to be quite endearing.

"Well well, the Scarecrow as I live and breathe," came the smug voice of Edward, who seemed to notice the man's approach far sooner than the pensive Jervis. "Quite bold of you call me that whilst the guards are on watch," Crane stated, stopping before the table with crossed arms. Jervis noticed there was something in his hands, but decided to stay mum whilst the two continued their chat. "Oh please. You believe they have time to actually come after me with all the ruckus in this courtyard?" Nygma scoffed, watching him take a seat at another end of the round table to form a triangle of sorts. "From what I've heard, you've only just gotten out of solitary confinement last week," Jonathan hummed, placing whatever was in his hands onto the table. It was revealed to be a paper plate topped with a pile of various lunch meats, much to the others' curiosity. "I'm surprised you would take the risk, although you've always had that compulsion to taunt." Edward seemed offended by the choice of words. "Compulsion? Hardly," he spat. "Think it more of an act of protest. These imbeciles believe they can stifle my speech. They're only intimidated." Jonathan let a quick exhale escape him, the only indication anyone got that he found something to be amusing. "It's good to be back, Riddler." Said criminal gave a casual smirk at the words of defiance. It was well known throughout the Asylum that the staff held an unsaid anti-alias policy. Names like "Harley Quinn", "Two-Face", and "Mad Hatter" or even one-time headlines like the briefly famous Gotham Station Bomber that bunked with Harvey Dent were not allowed within Arkham, as it was a held belief that actively referring to other inmates as their known alter egos would only perpetuate unwanted behaviors. Jonathan, of course, believed this. It didn't mean he liked it, however.

"Have they placed you back in your usual cell yet?" Nygma questioned casually whilst Jervis inspected the odd plate of meat, silently pondering as to why his mere existence hadn't repelled the lanky man. "Not yet. After the exercise period they will," Crane replied, shoulders slack in contrast to his usual tense manner around other individuals. "Oh good. You must be excited to see Mikey again," Nygma teased. An amused titter erupted from Jervis at Jonathan's following exhausted sigh. "Is he here?" he murmured, looking out at the mingle of prisoners that belonged to the low-risk wing of the asylum. Mikey was Jonathan's assigned cellmate, and while all three found solace in complaining about who they were placed with, it was ultimately Nygma who found himself to be the most miserable what with his cellmate having the mentality of a young boy. "He's currently ranting to anyone who will listen about cameras hidden in odd places," Jervis answered, noticing the visible stiffness that overcame Jonathan at the sound of his voice. As soon as it had come, however, it was gone with some forced relaxation. "If you're going to complain already, just attack a guard," suggested the Riddler, running a hand through neat brown hair. "High security inmates get their cells completely to themselves."

"And little to no freedom. I believe I'll pass," Jonathan muttered with a bored tone to his voice. "Is that why Harvey and Lynns are strangely absent?"

"Zsasz, too," Tetch mentioned, taking eyes off of the plate of meat finally. "Harvey got in a fight with one of the other inmates, Viktor nearly murdered his doctor, and dear Garfield somehow got ahold of one of the guards' matches."

"Quite surprised at Harvey's case," Crane stated, taking another scan around the courtyard. Unlike seconds before, his frame didn't react to another statement from Jervis. "He rather enjoyed his privileges. I suppose that was Two-Face's doing?" Nygma nodded, finally bringing attention to the small pile of meat. "This is one of your privileges?" Before Crane could responded, Harley leaped into the conversation and onto the seat beside him with a boisterous laugh. "And a damn good one at that! The docs give ya free food? Talka 'bout a score!" Jonathan kept his mouth shut as Quinn quickly plucked a piece of meat and ungracefully dropped it into her mouth. Jervis couldn't stop the spilling of giggles when her expression reflexively scrunched up at the powerful taste. "Rancid," Jonathan was finally courteous enough to mention, watching her spit out the meat and a following attempt to spit out the disgusting taste. "Thanks for tellin' me ya wingnut," she complained, giving him a playful smack on the arm. Jonathan tried to recoil out of the way, but the blow landed, thus temporarily breaking that ever shrinking personal bubble of his. He showed no annoyance, but it was only subtly noticeable that he was uncomfortable at the touch. "The meat was a tinge green, my dear," Jervis mention, his giggles subsiding. "Ain't you been to college, bozo?" she chided. "I see free food. I eat. Simple as that." She puffed up her cheeks, looking back down at the meat. "What's it for, anyways? What good is meat that ya can't eat?"

Jonathan looked up at her with feigned disinterest, looking back at the rooftops. On cue, a large crow fluttered down from the sky and landed on the table, their attention turned to the Scarecrow. It was almost big enough to be mistaken for a raven. It let out a light squawk, but the doctor didn't seem to take any offense to the loud greeting. Crane took up a piece of meat, tearing off a piece and offering it. The corvid considered it for only a second before snatching the treat and quickly devouring it. Harley gasped childishly, gesturing wordlessly to plated meat. Jonathan nodded in return, watching her grab a fistful of rancid meat and skip off to go feed some birds. That left him with only half his pile left, but he didn't seem to mind, merely tearing off another piece and feeding it to his feathered friend. Tetch noticed with quiet interest how the bird was missing an eye. "Won't that make him ill?" he questioned, causing the other's gaze to meet his, if only briefly. "Of course not. They're carrion birds," Jonathan explained economically. "Quite like vultures. They've adapted to eating rotting flesh."

With Harley gone, a few more crows seemed to deem it safe to fly down. Jonathan's lips curled ever so slightly as a couple more corvids landed as close as they could on his seat and before him, calling out for his attention. "Yes yes, I'm back," he said softly, as if speaking to an excitable dog that had spent too many hours alone in a house waiting for their owner to return, but he continued to hold that still even tone of voice you would only deliver to someone deserving of contempt. Scraps of meat were eagerly taken up from his hand as the birds seemed to find more interest in eating from his hand than from the plated food. "Is that the meat from the kitchen?" Riddler asked slowly, a grimace clearly expressing his distaste for the messy, non-mechanical company Jonathan liked to keep. "Just the sum that's gone bad," Crane answered, being sure to give the intellectual his attention as he continued feeding the birds. Nygma considered the food, a realization seeming to come to him then. "Have you ever had these sorts of privileges before?" Nygma questioned, bringing a questioning gaze to the table. Jonathan thought for a moment, but it was Tetch that answered for him. "Outside of the standard exercise and recreation room privileges? I don't believe so," he said, surprise sounding off in his own voice. "With all the constant terrorizing you bring to the doctors, you've always been trapped in this space betwixt being too unruly to deserve extra privileges and too tame to be considered high risk like Joker," Nygma brought up. A sneer found its way onto his face, lacing his fingers with derision clearly oncoming. "You aren't going straight on us, are you?" A roll of Crane's eyes seemed to bring out a spark of genuine disdain from the Riddler, although it was nothing to ever worry about. "I'm feeding birds, Nygma. Calm down," Jonathan brushed off, an answer that seemed to sate the enigmatic man for the time being. He still seemed to be the same constantly vexed, incorrigible terror he always prided himself on being— save for the 'terror' bit. He just seemed so subdued, but the others had chalked it up to sedatives.

Jervis silently watched Jonathan move onto the second scrap of meat, tearing off more pieces for the avians to devour. Nygma seemed to want to speak more on his mind, but a couple more crows seemed to have found it safe enough to land uncomfortably close to him in order to eat as well. Some finally decided to rip bits from the plate, not of any displeasure to Jonathan, but the largest crow and two others found more desire in being fed by hand. "I see you've invited more guests to our table," Edward muttered, looking over at Jervis. "Whatever happened to 'no room'?" Tetch bit his lip to fight off that instinctual urge to supply a quote. Fortunately he wasn't in the mood to be taken in by the guards. "It appears I'm not currently running this tea party," he simply replied with a shrug, watching birds eat hungrily. He couldn't help but be reminded of a certain time beside a chapel, sitting on graves with handfuls of peanuts and uncharacteristic jokes. Jokes about accents and annoyance at made up words and the occasional anger sparked from a misunderstanding not yet resolved. Jervis knew his partner in crime could remember the laughs and confessions and _humanness_ of their time together, even if he wouldn't acknowledge it. Nygma would never understand those times, he knew, which is why he was never told of them. Jervis would admit he was sometimes envious of just how informed Edward was on just about everything, such as intricacies and plans and Jonathan himself or perhaps this "Scarecrow" character; from shoes and ships and sealing wax. " _Of cabbages and kings and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings_."

"Ahem." Tetch blinked, his attention brought to the recidivist with a questioning gaze. "You were staring at me maliciously," Riddler stated flatly, bringing an apologetic "oh! Sorry Ed," from the smallest of the group. Jonathan seemed disinterested in the oddity, plucking some more meat off the plate in order to feed another one of his flying companions. Once another crow landed down, Edward finally hit his limit and pushed away from the table. "Wash your hands afterwards before you get everyone sick," he merely stated, shifting with rigid distaste to turn and leave. "I'll see you at the cafeteria tomorrow morning."

"Edward." Nygma paused and looked back with a nicely feigned veil of aloofness. Jonathan watched him for only a moment before letting out a tense sigh. "Thank you." Ed stared, brow furrowed. "For…?" he encouraged. "For helping save my life," Jonathan elaborated, looking somewhat irked he had to near spell it out. There was a moment of speechlessness from the Riddler, having not expected a thanks so soon out of the gate. He had been planning on strategically forcing such gratitude over time in the recreation room. The proud man he was, he quickly regained any lost composure. "Of course!" he grinned as though he had actually taken the steps of that previous plan to earn this gratitude. "I knew it would just be a waste of moderate intellect should you have died then. I was merely doing you a favor."

"A favor that will be paid back in full," Jonathan assured him. "Just say the word and you will be able to count on my skillset to assist you." It was at this point that Nygma looked visibly perturbed by this shift in attitude. "In full," Ed repeated, that smirk growing on his face once more. "Enjoy your birds." With that, left their presence.

"Our dear pig friend could use some gratitude," Jervis mentioned, filling the empty space that threatened to follow the finished conversation. Jonathan's brow raised ever so slightly, his head turning to peer at Lazlo from the corner of his eye. "In another lifetime, perhaps," he decided, shaking his head slowly. The large crow before him cawed loudly in a desire for either food or attention; it would no doubt grate on the nerves of their fellow inmates, but their ill friends were unable to fly, so it was one of those 'deal with it' situations in Arkham, like terrible food, lackadaisical doctors, and rampant abuse.

"I could always use a bit of gratitude," Tetch smiled, resting his smiling chin on a propped palm. Crane looked up at him, silently feeling his bird friend. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Jervis."

Jervis hadn't expected this. He had been anticipating for a near two weeks the spitting hatred and attempts at strangulation he had once believed were destined to come his way. Of course, Jonathan always had a reputation for staying unnervingly calm for purely intimidation, but this didn't seem like that. He felt so oddly subdued in just his act. That brusque intonation was a far cry from that slow pace he intentionally donned every waking moment. For a few seconds, Tetch believed he was reading too deep. The idea was quickly dismissed, however, when he figured it was simply the fact that he had more personal experience with Crane than anyone else— well, except Nygma. That still had to be accounted for.

"There seem to be more birds than usual," Jervis decided to bring up, watching the crows peer down at them from far above. Why was it now of all times that he found difficulty in knowing what to say? He was never a friend of agonizing silences as he always seemed to know how to fill them with chatter. Jonathan looked back at the rooftops of the towering asylum, taking interest in the crows. "Crows will show up for funerals," he replied softly, although whether it could really be considered a reply was debatable with how odd the response was to the statement. "Do they?" Jervis asked, his attention back to the corvids tearing at the meat. Crane nodded slowly. "When another crow dies," he explained, "many will come en masse and gather round, most likely to warn of possible dangers in the area or perhaps to mourn." Jervis frowned, saying nothing and letting him get on with his bird facts. "I see…" he could only reply with.

"Hey Doc!" Jonathan turned his head in slight surprise when he heard Harley reappear with a little leap into view. Jervis, however, nearly jumped out of his seat. "Harley. I'm afraid I'm almost out of meat," Jonathan informed her solemnly, looking down at the few scraps left on the plate. He took one up, generously feeding his bird friend that so kindly asked with a loud caw to his face. "Nah, I don't need anymore;" she smiled, "some bozo ate it all." Jervis visibly cringed. "Oh how I pity their stomach and the nurse that will have to care for him," he murmured. Harley was quickly joined by a rather recognizable figure, what with him being college aged. Lonnie Machin, was undoubtedly the youngest of the asylum to join their ranks. "Mr. Machin," Jonathan greeted slowly. "I doubt you've come to congratulate me on a speedy recovery."

"I'm not heartless," Lonnie sneered, although there was a hint of amusement to his voice. "Glad you're better, Doc." The recovered patient didn't flex in emotion. "Forgive me for believing otherwise," the doctor apologized without much of a hint of remorse, "we just left on a bad note the last time we met within Arkham after our conversation about Halloween." Jervis gave Machin a questioning look, which the boy was quick to explain away. "Look, if you want to celebrate a propagandist holiday filled with consumerist garbage set up by the man for the sole purpose of sating the masses, that's your thing;" he forgave, "I've come to terms with that. I just have to put you down as one of the many that have been lost to the capitalist spin machine." If Jonathan could roll his eyes any harder they would be dice.

"Is it really celebrating if you're terrorizing Gotham as you do it? I'd think you'd like that sort of chaos," Harleen asked him, to which Anarky seemed to brush aside the question with a wave of his hand. "That's chaos for the sake of chaos, Harley," he explained briefly. "I prefer chaos as an act of protest." He gestured a hand to Tetch, as if trying to get him to come behind him in agreement. "Er… Halloween isn't very big back in England," he said softly. "Not like it is here in the States… Never quite celebrated it myself…" Tetch grinned sheepishly as he said with a questioning tone, "I didn't know Halloween was a government plot?" Anarky just scoffed and shook his head, waving a hand as if to dismiss him. Harley finally decided to get into the meat of the business, stopping the pointless debate with, "Alright, sooo, Garfield and Lonnie n' I have been waiting for you to come out so you could show us your…" She grinned widely and paused, pointing to her chest. "Y'know…" Lonnie seemed to get back on track, nodding in agreement with his brow wiggling suggestively. Crane quickly caught on, rolling his eyes to express his annoyance. "Very well." He grabbed the hem of his given uniform shirt with a hand, hiking it up just past his chest to expose that thin frame of his. Along his chest, right where his lungs could be located, was a giant scar from life-saving surgery and a couple bleak months of treatment. "Whoa…" Lonnie whispered, eyes wide, before a grin sprang up to his face. "Wicked." Harley popped that personal bubble once more by reaching forward and tracing a finger along the scar. "Wow! I could lose weight by walking the distance of that thing!" she grinned, her unwanted touching getting Jonathan to finally lower his shirt. "I suppose the aftermath of my near death is fairly interesting," he sighed, a hand to his chest to unconsciously trace the scar through his shirt. "Hey, you're lucky you got help from Lazlo," Lonnie reasoned, quickly gaining Crane's ire. "After all, the alternative would be having to pay tons for a corrupt health care system that whose only goal is to squeeze your life from you in the name of-"

"Lonnie," Jonathan interrupted. "It's bad enough I have to hear this from my cellmate. I beg that you please give me at least a couple days to adjust." Anarchy put his hands up in admitted defeat, shoving them into his pockets and strolling away. "Ah why you gotta be so hard on him, Doc?" Harley smiled, patting him on the back. "He literally threatened to bomb the offices of government officials," Crane deadpanned. "Hey, have you taken one of those political courses?" was Harley's rebuttal. "I had to take one back in uni. I was damn near ready to torch the White House after that." Jonathan gave her a strange look to her reply. "I didn't know you were fond of anarchism," he noted, a hint of interest in his usual flat tone. "I'm not! It was just an insanely boring class!" Harley smiled happily and promptly turned to leave before they would reigned back in. Jonathan looked over at Jervis, his expression back to impassive. "Did you understand any of that?" he asked. Jervis just grinned sheepishly. "I nodded out at 'consumerist', I'm afraid."

That key word at the end seemed to trigger a subtle response in the taller man, who tensed ever so slightly. He grimaced, taking in a deep breath, before letting it slowly leak out as he pet one of his little crow friends. "Did you name them?" Tetch asked, wanting to keep some conversation going. "Yes," Jonathan was willing to admit. "Well, only this one." He lifted his arm a bit higher, showing off the one-eyed large crow that was now perched on his wrist. "I named her Katrina."

Tetch's frown was immediate. "Wait… didn't you name one of the…" He paused, afraid he would be stepping on touchy territory. "One of the crows back my old home? Yes, I named that one Katrina as well," Jonathan answered. Jervis seemed displeased for whatever reason, something Crane picked up on. "Is that a problem?" he sighed with a tone that made it clear there would be no compromise. "Well, I just think it's… wrong to name two pets you have the same name!" the Englishman brought up. "It feels as though they're replaceable and not special little friends… like Dinah! My, if Dinah died, Alice surely wouldn't go about naming her next cat the same name! It just seems cruel."

"Of all the things you have to complain about…" Crane trailed off, looking more tired by the passing seconds. "For one, I've only decided to name her several days ago," he began to explain, too done with this conversation to point out that Arkham hardly seemed the place to discuss pets. "As for the other crow, I'm never going to see that crow again. I'm not going back and I only named her because you threatened to name her Lewis Carroll, so I might as well have never named it at all." Jervis' eyes narrowed at the pettiness of the confession, but let him continue. "Furthermore, humans share the same names all the time! There are tons of men out there named 'Jonathan' or 'Edward' or 'Jerv-'" He stopped, a sudden realization seemingly overtaking him. He looked away, lips tight. "Well… never you mind that last one." He looked back to see Jervis' reaction. "Oh please, don't look at me like that— I didn't even know 'Jervis' was an actual name up until I met you. Can you honestly tell me you've heard of another man named Jervis?" Hatter was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve, much to his detriment. His shifting reaction brought victory to Crane. "I rest my case," he said simply, wincing when the talons of the crow dug in just a tad too deep.

"I must say I'm surprised," Jervis finally admitted, renewing Jonathan's interest in the conversation. The doctor quirked a brow, waving a free hand to beckon him to go on. By this time the meat was all gone and the crows had flown away. Even Katrina had decided to take her leave. For the first time since Jonathan's appearance, Jervis felt as though they were alone and able to speak. "I'm surprised you haven't made an attempt of my life as of yet," Tetch finished, and to his bewilderment, it only drew out a smile from his friend. The very sight was rare in itself, and it was one everyone was right not to trust. However, that subdued tone of his posture and voice seemed was what put Tetch on edge the most. When Jonathan wasn't answering, Jervis leaned forward in his seat. "Jonathan… I know you just got out of the hospital, but… are you feeling alright?"

The look Crane gave the other inmate was one that shook Jervis to the core. Jonathan had always been well known for having a resting expression that caused most to keep away; a mix of innate anger and a little something the media often labeled as "evil". This time, however, there was no spite, anger, maliciousness, or any of that malevolence Crane had always been so good at displaying. It was calm, if not slightly irked, and just seemed to read as tired. Jervis swallowed, feeling a continuously sinking boulder in the pit of his stomach. "Do you feel like… yourself?" he clarified, his voice now tenuous.

Jonathan responded with a growing smile on his face, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his wrist in silent contemplation of the question given. "I feel…" His smile grew, and with that came a small chuckle. "I feel… better than I have in years."

The answer only contributed to far more many questions. Unfortunately, they heard a familiar whistle call out to reign them in. "That would be the end of the period," Jonathan noted, getting up. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Jervis sat there, watching him leave until a guard came and helped him back to his cell.

* * *

"Alright Crane, welcome back," a guard welcomed, opening the cell door and allowing the former professor to be let inside. "Someone definitely missed you while you were out." Jonathan could only sigh, watching as a familiar Latino male was brought in.

Mikey stopped when he saw Crane, eyes wide as the door closed behind him. Everything was silent during the next few seconds. "Hey," Mikey greeted. "Good evening," Crane returned. "Welcome back," the schizophrenic greeted slowly. "It's nice being back," his cellmate nodded. Mikey's eyes shifted around awkwardly, before suddenly clinging to a topic. "So-!" He was quickly cut off when Jonathan sharply raised a hand to halt him. "Please," his roommate sighed, "give me five minutes." Mikey simply nodded and sat in his own bed, watching Crane get into his own.

Jonathan felt the bedding, fiddled with blanket, hummed as he fluffed his pillow, and quickly laid back. He looked up at the ceiling, getting ready to enjoy looking at a gray sky and chipping paint for the months to come, and slowly let out a sigh. He shifted to lay on one side before going back to the other side, felt along the wall, and listened for that familiar dripping from a pipe that was still leaking even after all these months. "Alright," he said finally, "I believe I'm done." Mikey stared as Jonathan cleared his throat, letting the silence hang as he readied himself once more. After another beat, Jonathan nodded. "Go ahead."

"So! Where were we?" Mikey grinned, resting his head back on his arms as he looked up at the ceiling. "I believe the last time I was here, you had told me about the cameras in our flowers," Crane recalled, staring up at he same ceiling with a small smile flitting across his features. "Oh yeah! Okay okay, so you'll never guess what they're doing with all that video." He looked over with a grin.

"Mmm… what are they doing with all that footage?"

"They're using all the video to pick us out individually. Looking for victims, y'know? They select certain people and then they kidnap 'em. Boom! Never seen again."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and these people get their organs harvested and put on the black market."

" _Really_?"

"Oh yeah. The government's profiting off of it big time."

"That's something I've never seen on the news before; although, all mainstream news is government owned, right?"

"Obviously. Okay okay, so let me tell you about what they're doing with people in France."

"What are they doing to people in France?"

" _Mind control._ "

"Oh."

"Yeah. Crazy, right?"

"Do go on."

* * *

"Is something wrong, Jervis?"

Tetch looked up disinterestedly, a small frown present on his face. "Oh a few things have me all aflutter," he murmured, although it was clear he was in no mood to elaborate. Doctor Picard set down his notepad, tenting his thin, doctor-like fingers together. Tetch hated a doctor's hands sometimes. Their mouth spouted untruths while their hands were the ones to speak volumes. Jervis always preferred to lace fingers; Jonathan was often one to tent. "You won't feel better if you keep those negative thoughts locked in," the doctor advised. "You can tell me anything. Nothing leaves this room."

"That's what you said before they subpoenaed my records," Tetch scoffed, slumped over the table with his chin resting on folded arms. "Now, Jervis, that was a legal requirement. You know that don't you?" Picard reasoned. Tetch just turned his head away, half of his face buried in the crook of his arms. "Now, why don't you tell me what had you so bothered?"

The smaller man's eyes held a very evident glare when reviewing the doctor. "This and that," he murmured. "Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax. You know how it is." The doctor frowned, shaking his head. "Now now, you just can't go around saying things like that," he reminded him. As his assigned doctor spoke, Jervis seemed to only grow in frustration, burying his face into his arms. "We want you to get better. You want that, too, don't you?" There was a pause as Jervis continued to stay hidden. The doctor continued to speak. "I would think you would be happy to see Jonathan." Tetch let his eyes rise just above the valley's of his arms, fixed on the doctor in a silent glare. Dr. Picard remained ignorant of the intentions of that stare, opting to continue to press on. "Did something go wrong? He wasn't mean to you, was he?" Jervis blinked slowly, silent. The psychiatrist had mistook Tetch's sudden reticent for him simply being disquieted by everything. The hat-maker glanced to the door longingly, vainly hoping the doctor would just drop it and they could be done with everything. Of course, the doctor had to keep talking. They always did. It was a habit they always seemed to hold; a pHd always seemed to cause people to believe they had more important opinions. That was something he never quite liked about his dear March Hare; the definitiveness of his statements.

"Jervis, are you paying attention?" came the grating voice of his assigned doctor. "You know it's rude to ignore people."

Tetch felt a rise within him, but it died down thanks to a bit of chemical assistance, curtesy of the asylum. He let out a simple huff, leaning back with lacing fingers. "I just suppose I'm a bit tired is all," he sighed. "Not tired in the usual sense mind you. Just tired… from kittens, cats, sacks, and wives, to cards and crows and all the ugly little stepping stones in between." He slumped onto the table. "Just… tired is all."


	2. Star of the Show

Red was spilt all over the table. Quite the mess it was, Jervis was rather ashamed to admit. His mind all aflutter with worry and ready apologies, he placed his hands on the almost liquid-like crimson he had unintentionally poured over the table and subsequently the floor. He had to admire it for a moment, the sight bringing his heart to a leap as he took some of it into his hands, a smile spreading across an unsure face. It wasn't long before a guard entered the room, looking down at the spilt colors, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Seriously Tetch?" Aaron Cash muttered, bending down to help roll up the red fabric. Tetch grinned sheepishly, giving the large spool a small tug so he wouldn't completely take it away. "Oh I was just admiring your fabrics," he hummed, feeling his hand over the gentle cloth once more. "Why, I could line a fine hat with this material!" Cash looked up with faint amusement, handing over the large roll for him to take a look at. "We used to use that stuff for the curtains whenever we'd have the other patients do those theatre shows. We just put this stuff away once we got the budget for the thicker kind of curtains. The ones actually used in plays."

Jervis pursed his lips, thinking back to a friend whilst his eyes inspected the flawless material. "Oh I think he would quite like this kind," he told Cash, growing rather excited to show the fabric off. Cash looked up at the only doctor in the room with a quirked brow. "Whaddaya say, doc? Checks out?" he asked, watching Dr. Leland glance over from her laptop with a small smile. "It's fine. I'm sure he'll appreciate it," she nodded with approval, setting her laptop down and strolling over to the cabinet. A whistle was on her lips as she unlocked the door and pulled out a rather large pair of scissors. Jervis gratefully took it in his hand, quickly getting to work in separating a thin section of the material. It had to be perfect; his friend wouldn't have it any other way. As soon as he had his strip, he made quick work of the middle by expertly cutting out two holes. As soon as it was done, he kindly handed the tool back, looking up at Cash with a readied smile. Cash nodded, gesturing for him to follow his lead out the door. Tetch dutifully followed, folding the large strip into his hands with a steady smile.

Ruckus of madmen laughing and entertaining themselves grew louder until they were inside the Rec room. Cash scanned around until he saw the big guy tucked up in a corner. "There he is," Aaron pointed out, gesturing to the man. Jervis followed his hand, grinning ear to ear when he saw him. He quietly thanked Cash before skipping off, trying hard not to wrinkle the fabric he was delivering to his friend.

"Lazlo!" Jervis called out upon arriving, engendering a jolt and a suspicious look from the other. Pyg, with his face hidden in his hands, found it possible to smile once more upon seeing his smaller acquaintance. Tetch presented the cloth, offering to be the one to apply it. Valentin conceded, uncovering his face for a brief moment and crossing his legs on the ground. Biting his tongue, the hatter quickly went about tying the cloth around Pyg's eyes, making sure the holes for the eyes were lined up properly for him to see. Finishing tying up the fabric, he took a step back to see how it had turned out. The pale man had black hair now shrouded by the fabric, the material covering up the top portion if his face while the mouth and chin were left to show, just as the Professor liked it.

Lazlo felt around his face, smiling pleasantly. Jervis was happy he was able to help his companion. "You look simply frabjous, Valentin! Why, I believe you could- eep!" Jervis was heaved up into much larger arms, getting a hug so tight it actually hurt a little. "I love the gift, Tetch," Lazlo grinned, the intense medication he was on subduing his usual flawed speech. "Flawed eyes were never meant to gaze upon the masterful complexion of the artist before they're reborn." He dropped Tetch back onto his feet, watching him teeter a bit. "After that scoundrel— that blasphemer upon the Mother— took my last mask, I was nearly about to have him corrected!" Jervis just tittered softly, looking back at said offender of the Mother Goat's good name. The man in question, a rather imposing figure, had stolen the red mask Lazlo had made in his therapy time. While art therapy wasn't for everyone, it was certainly Lazlo's favored time, as he enjoyed making creative masks to hide the upper section of his face. After it had been stolen, Valentin was ready to lobotomize the man, but Jervis made sure to get a quick substitute before his friend got in some serious trouble.

"A rather kind gesture to a friend, Mr. Tetch," commented a watcher. Jervis looked over as Lazlo went about his own business, spotting the familiar middle-aged figure of Deacon Blackfire. The deacon looked up from his bible (which was heavily marred by scribbled out scriptures and constant notations on the sides), massive locks of graying hair pulled back and tied loosely. He gave a kind, almost parental smile as he placed a bookmark in between the pages. "Good deeds will always be rewarded in full in the afterlife," he went on to comment. Jervis was immediately uncomfortable in the presence of the cult leader, but nonetheless decided to take the respectful route with returning the smile with a "thank you, Father."

"Ugh. 'Father'," Mary Dahl complained, clutching her doll close to her body as she kicked her legs on the seat. Despite her sitting on the other side of the table Blackfire was at, Jervis had almost overlooked her and her even smaller stature. "This big ol' creep ain't my daddy!" Blackfire merely raised a brow in silent annoyance as the woman treated him to a stuck-out tongue. The scene brought a calm smile to Jervis, he pulled up a seat right at their table. "Attitudes like that is what get worldly folk like you sent to hell," the deacon sneered, shutting his bible as his demeanor seemed to do a complete flip. Jervis felt it was his time to intervene before an argument erupted, but the comment seemed to only brighten Baby Doll's mood. She donned that mischievous smirk that had grown synonymous with her villainy. Cupping pudgy hands around her mouth to amplify her voice, she shouted, "Hey Garfield! What's hotter than the flames of hell?"

When Jervis glanced over to the one she was calling to, he only had a split second to push his chair away from the table before Lynns suddenly ran into view, leapt, and landed on the table Rose Bukater style with one leg propped up and the whole nine yards. Then came the punchline. "My burning love for Jesus Christ! Can I get an amen?"

Immediately the two devolved into helpless laughter and giggles. Even Jervis couldn't help the titters that spilled from his mouth as Blackfire brusquely stood up in evident disgust. Firefly and Baby Doll only laughed harder as the zealot was forced to tug his bible out from under Garfield's heavy body. Even after he stormed off in red-faced anger, the two continued to giggle and laugh. "My, it wasn't _that_ funny," Tetch grinned despite the hiccups of laughter bubbling from his chest. He was simply self-conscious of all the looks they were starting to get. "Hah- ah- it was funny to me, man," Garfield snickered as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. Mary did the same, those childish giggles unending. "W-we- haha, we've been waiting to use that line for a month," she gasped in hysterics. "I can't believe he finally said it!" Just on time, too. Lynns had been released from solitary confinement only that morning. It was no surprise these two were finding fun in silly jokes; in Arkham, you practically have to make your own fun. Dahl and Lynns were placed directly across from each other when put into their cells, so it only made sense that they tried to get along the best they could.

"Okay, okay, I think I'm done," Garfield grinned, sliding himself onto the edge of the table and getting off. He noticed the doubtful gaze of Jervis and promptly responded. "What can I say? It gets boring on the ground. Guy like me isn't supposed to be grounded like this." He looked out the reinforced window, up at that cloudy sky. Well, whatever he could see between the bars. "I wish I had those wings back, you know? With those babies, I could fly higher than any sky scraper." Jervis let his interest in the conversation be known. "That's quite impressive," he lauded, praising his mechanical prowess. "Not everyone can build such a machine." Garfield's face was uncertain as he looked back at him. "Well, it's not that impressive," he replied. "Because- tch—" He paused as a giggle he tried to hold back in vain slipped through "—b-because skyscrapers can't fly."

Jervis stared, took in a deep breath, and gently asked, "How long have you been waiting to say that?" he asked softly. "Literally three days," Firefly grinned, completely sliding off of the table to properly take a seat and sit next to him. "Okay okay, I swear I'm done." As soon as he had stopped shaking with restrained laughter, he scanned around, noticing Pyg's new getup. "Someone took his mask again?" he guessed, leaning back in his chair. Tetch just nodded, adding on, "I got him the little garb around his head. He's quite content with it, and so am I." Firefly's gaze locked onto several other colorful characters around the recreation room, such as Jonathan. "Hm. What's with some of these freaks and masks?" he muttered, using the term 'freak' loosely since he prided himself in being the most destructive freak of all. "Don't you wear a mask, on your little escapades, Firefly?" Jervis hummed, his gaze shifting to one of subtle judgement. "You mean the one I need to breathe oxygen so I don't suffocate on carbon dioxide?" Lynns snickered in return. "Fair point," Jervis acquiesced, looking around at the group as Mary left to go play with her doll. Pursing his lips, he steadily locked his eyes on Jonathan, who was listening to Nygma rant about this and that. His thoughts went back to that Scarecrow mask of his. "Masks are… quite like another identity," he finally decided on, folding his hands in his lap. "You don't want people to see the real you, and so you disguise your features with something you feel is the representation of the real you."

 _Hatter._

 _Can you hear me?_

Jervis shivered at the memory, frowning deeply as he was forced to picture leering eyes and a grin too impossible for his face. Jonathan never smiled that widely; it just seemed too unnatural for a man who was always so unhappy. He gazed up at Jonathan once more, and for a split second, their eyes met. Jervis felt that connection he had always known was there, and yet Crane just turned his head back to Ed as if there was nothing. Jonathan knew there was something between them, that much Jervis was sure of, but he only wished the Hare could convince himself of what was right before him. Then again, maybe it wasn't his own pride that reticent nature was trying to protect.

 _The good doctor was always protective of you._

 _But he isn't here right now._

Jervis gulped steadily, rubbing the back if his neck. "It… helped you to dissociate. Become who you want to be, and hide who you really are." "Like a kid just barely under the drinking age?" Garfield commented, to which Jervis nodded. "Yes, like a kid barely under— wait." Brow furrowed in confusion, he followed Firefly's gaze until it landed on a certain college-aged youth. "Oh, you're talking about Anarky." Garfield merely shrugged in feigned innocence. "Oh, no specific person. I just don't think you should be going to prison when _you're not even old enough to drink_." Machin heard the slightly raised voice of the other, tossing a middle finger over to the arsonist with little regard. "Well… in this country, anyways," Tetch tacked on swiftly. He received that familiar curious look. "Yours is at eighteen?" Lynns asked knowingly. "Sixteen or seventeen if you're with an adult," Jervis added. Garfield needed a second to think about that, gleaning what he could for an upcoming comment. "Huh. I guess you can't really put an age cap on a fun ti—"

"WHAT? HOW?"

That boisterous shout could only come from one person in particular who was too proud to out a muffle on his own voice. "Uh oh. Looks like Nygma's about to throw a tantrum," Firefly teased, gesturing for Hatter to go over there and calm him down. Something had Ed riled up, and if he was getting this loud, it certainly wasn't anything small. While Edward certainly loved any sort of attention, he hardly ever wanted it to be while he wasn't composed and sloven in his attitude.

Jervis rushed over to see Jonathan rubbing his temples from one side of the table while Nygma was muttering curses to the entire Gotham population on the other. "I don't suppose this is a matter that can be solved amicably, is it," Jervis huffed, immediately assuming that the two had been in a falling out. "There's nothing to solve," Crane sighed, looking over thinly framed glasses to peer down at Jervis. "We just found out Nygma's safe house has been compromised. It was discovered this morning."

"Plans! Money! Riddles! My computer! All of it gone!" Riddler growled through clenched teeth. "And because of an anonymous tipper of all things! A coward who won't even show his face to claim what he's done to me." He went about glaring at passersby, as if silently blaming them for him momentary misery. "Starting back up from nearly nothing is a nightmare— not a word, Crane!" Crane silently raised a brow at the sudden accusation, despite seemingly not jumping on the last word as he would usually do. Jervis let his thoughts go to sympathy for the Riddler. While all three would consider themselves masterminds, it was Nygma who undoubtedly had the most elaborate setup of the trio. Hardly being an impetuous man, most of his things took eternities to collect or complete. Machinery, loads of information, and complex plans were far more valuable than a simple chemistry table or a box of wires for metal playing cards. "Oh, that sounds dreadful," Jervis empathized. "They didn't get A-SIRA, did they?" Edward thought back to his little disc-shaped vacuum and shook his head. "No, Catwoman is in possession of her at the moment. For her cats and whatnot." He pinched his nose, his frustration only decreasing an iota because at least he had one thing going for him. Tetch pressed forth, however, his soft-spoken voice quickly grating on the nerves of the one he attempted to sooth. "Oh don't worry, dear Ed, I'll get you some tea come lunch hour," Tetch promised. "A bit of that should really help those nerves of—"

"Jervis, I don't want to hear it right now!" Riddler snapped, jaw working tightly as his vexation mounted. Crane opened his mouth to speak, but was once again shut down. "And don't give me any of your pity advice," Nygma sneered, his petulance getting the better of him. "Nothing you could possibly say could ease my problems at the moment.

Jonathan said nothing, looking over at the moping Edward, who was clearly upset at the loss of so much hard work. He was turned away, muttering to himself words of self comfort as he tried to convince himself that not everything was downhill at this moment. Jervis frowned slowly before locking eyes with Crane. Both had the exact same thought at that moment, only Jervis let it show when his expression flipped to one of subtle mischief.

"How about scones?" Tetch mentioned, to which Edward just shot a look his way. Still, he persisted. "Oh I simply adore scones. I make them from time to time, you see. For my tea and such. "I use my mother's recipe for blueberry scones." He let out a pause, noticing Ed's vague bewilderment at the ramble. "Unfortunately, my mother always liked hers a bit too sweet," Jervis sighed. "The recipe calls for one fourth a cup of sugar. Like I said, I don't like mine too sweet on the tongue, so I instead use one-third a cup of sugar. It's perfect for me."

There was an immediate reaction. Ed's head shot up as he opened his mouth to protest. However, he stopped short, shooting Jervis the most dirty look. It was clear he wanted to say something, but refused in worry he may come across as conceding to their game. Jervis looked kindly over to Jonathan, who took his cue and began. "I'm not much for baking," he mentioned, sounding almost in passing. "As you know, I'm quite proficient in chemistry. Unfortunately, none of my experiments ever go my way. Fries tells me it's because I'm not using Kelvin as my unit of temperature, but this is America, so I only use Fahrenheit."

"Both of you. Stop," Ed warned, but it was Jervis' turn to take a shot. "I enjoy my chicken just a tinge pink in the middle. People tell me I'll get salmonella, but they're obviously just a crowd of idiots. I'm eating chicken, not salmon." Jonathan gave him a quiet look as if to say "good one" before cracking his knuckles for his next line. "I hear Arnold Wesker doesn't like drinking the milk here. I believe it's because he's lack toast and tolerant."

Ed visibly jolted from that one, now resorting to covering his ears. "Have I told you my favorite vegetable, Crane?" Tetch asked in mock curiosity. Jonathan feigned the same interest, answering with "I don't believe you have." "It's the tomato," smiled Jervis.

"I'm not listening!" Riddler claimed with a rising voice. "Are you enjoying your year?" Jonathan asked calmly. Jervis was ready with a, "Of course! How about you, Crane?" Jonathan straightened the sleeves to his uniform, responding, "It's going fairly well. I just can't believe the Earth is two thousand eighteen years old ."

"LALALALALA!" Ed shouted over plugged ears, hunched over and away from the two imbeciles. Jervis grinned, dramatically inhaling. "I wouldn't wouldn't be autistic if it wasn't for the measles vaccine my mother gave me."

"Why should the US care about Puerto Rico? It's not like they're a part of the United States," Jonathan shot back.

"Do you think I should spay my male cat?"

"I think very highly of the president of Great Britain."

"I'm not into video games like Ed, but I do adore that little green fellow with the sword and shield. What was his name? Zelda!"

"I've never done marijuana before in life. I don't want to get addicted or overdose."

"I hear Miss Kyle recently went to her OBGYN. I hope she didn't-"

"OB-GYN?" Jonathan interrupted with a furrowed brow. "Isn't that the Star Wars character?" Tetch was taken aback, biting his lip as Jonathan sipped his cup of water with a raised brow that clearly read "beat that." Jervis loved a good challenge, but it was obvious this one would be hard to top. He frowned, looking away as he concentrated on an untruth that could trump Jonathan's intentional stupidity. When it finally came to him, he quickly brightened up with a snap of his fingers. He cleared his throat, lacing his fingers. Jonathan let a flicker of a smile cross his face as he prepared for the what was next.

"I am five feet tall," Jervis said simply. That was it. "Stop! You're all idiots!" Ed quickly snatched up a newspaper, rolling it up and repeatedly smacking it on the defenseless Jervis' head. "Wrong wrong wrong wrong!" Tetch just laughed as he tried to evade the oncoming smacks of the newspaper. "You are four foot eleven and you know it you absolute munchkin!" He repeatedly smacked him until the newspaper was plucked from his hands. "That's enough, Edward," Jonathan sighed, tossing the newspaper onto the table. "Still angry?"

"Of course I'm still angry!" Nygma snapped, arms crossed. "However, with your clear nescience, you admittedly have helped to ease my frustrations. It doesn't stop the fact that you're both absolute morons." He let out a tired sigh, leaning against the backing of his chair. "I'll just… deal with it when I escape. I swear, where do you get these inane fallacies?"

"We live in an insane asylum, Nygma," Jonathan replied, before getting up to get himself some more water. Jervis watched him silently, his giggling having stopped when Ed had ceased his harmless beating. Jonathan was about to head back, when he was stopped by Harley, who obviously had a thing or two to say to him. Realizing that he had several minutes to spare as Crane was preoccupied, he turned his attention back to Edward, who was clearly deep in thought as he tapped his fingers against the table.

"Ed, you're very knowledgable about most things, aren't you?" Jervis asked, a small smile crossing his face. "I'm experienced and knowledgeable enough to know that sounds like the beginning of a sarcastic remark," he told him very matter-of-factly. Tetch held his tongue, glancing away to gather his next line. "Well, I simply ask because, er…" He decided to shift gears, going straight for the point. "How well do you know Jonathan?"

Edward looked over at him with a raised brow and lit interest. "Oh." Jervis felt the spotlight on him, knowing Ed could tell what the topic of discussion would be. "I was wondering when you would bring this up."

"Bring what up?" the hatter asked with feigned confusion. Unlike Jonathan, however, he wasn't so good at disguising his emotions behind a stoic wall. He was a man with a beating heart on his sleeve, and yes, that heart was his. He would never dirty his attire with other people's viscera. "I didn't exactly leave your curiosity sated last time," Riddler continued, not buying his confusion. Dropping the charade, Jervis gave a slight nod. "You always are one for a dramatic exit. Having the last word and such," he agreed.

The first sign that this was going to be a touchy subject was when Ed physically turned to glance at Crane to make sure he wasn't in earshot. "Well… there's a reason for that." The second was when he brung caution by lowering his voice a couple decibels. Rarely did a controversial subject keep Riddler quiet. "You want to know about…"

"Scarecrow," Jervis confirmed, lowering his voice to match his friend's. Edward sucked air through his teeth before taking another look back at Crane, another indicator he was treading on sensitive ground. "Oh please, Ed," Tetch dared to scoff. "Since when have you ever been one to keep secrets? What good is information if it's kept hidden, hmm?" Edward visibly scowled, knowing that Jervis was appealing to that egocentric side of him. If there was a secret he knew, he would be damned if he let some other fool take the glory of revealing it. So Nygma relented, but only in the usual Riddler fashion.

"I end all curiosity, and finish every question," he began. "Some people search for me for years and never find me. Although I may be elusive or never so clear, I will always exist. What am I?"

It took little to no time at all for Jervis to find the answer, which was exactly that. "A solution. Or an answer. However you want to spin it," Jervis replied readily, confused as to what this had to do with Jonathan. "Yes, answers, the one thing I love more than riddles," Riddler sighed, leaning back until his chair was only propped up by two legs. "Now, you should never go around asking questions you already know the answer to. That, Tetch, is a riddle, and we all know that is my forte, not yours." He jabbed a warning finger at the hatter. "So stop. I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you want to know about him, I can't help you."

Jervis couldn't feel the obvious shame Nygma was trying to bring him, as his question had already been answered. "So he exists?" he proceeded to ask, one that caught Ed by surprise. The mastermind found himself taken aback by the true purpose of the question. "I'm a neurologist; albeit, a disgraced one, but I still learned the same way as everyone else," Jervis told him. "I glean what I can and connect the dots just as anyone is able to. I wanted to know if he simply exists."

Nygma did the glance back at Jonathan. Jervis would ask what he was so afraid of, but everyone already knew there was plenty to be afraid if from Crane. Jervis, however, felt a welling of pride within him, knowing that he had been through the very worst Jonathan had to offer. Nothing was worse than the fear toxin, he was certain. Some, like his dear Dormouse, wouldn't be able to understand it like he could, that much Jervis knew was clear. Was he overconfident? Perhaps just a smidge. When you know someone better than anyone else, you tend to underestimate at times.

"Look, I can't talk about it," Riddler finally admitted, planting his chair firm on the ground. His voice was fairly dismissive, acting as though he were a doctor denying a patient confidential information. "If you're so curious, ask Jonathan yourself." He visibly grimaced, arms crossed. "I… he just won't be happy if he find out I told you. It's apparently personal with him, and you know how he likes locking up or killing anything personal about him." He took a moment to once more look back out of healthy paranoia. "If you're really so curious— a simple question should do no harm."

Well, Jervis had _thought_ he'd known Jonathan better than anyone else, but it appears he had been quite mistaken. The thought that after all that time on the road there was still one layer of wall he hadn't chipped through was absolutely absurd to him. What's even more absurd? Riddler absolutely pussyfooting around the proper information. "And why can't I just ask you?" Jervis smiled slyly, trying to pry such valuable intel from a privy man who would bring up anything if it got enough attention. However, that previously lackadaisical smile was soon wiped off as Nygma found it appropriate to bring a sudden slam of solemness to the tone of their conversation. "Because I take threats against my life seriously," Ed spoke without any of that vibe of a man dangling a treat above a dog's nose. "If I get threatened, I make an example out of them. When you're threatened by the likes of Crane, however, it's easier to just comply with inane rules. What does it hurt to keep a secret no one knows?"

"It seems to me that you've been frightened," Tetch started to tease. Tight-lipped and with thinning restraint, Ed just made an attempt at a less dramatic route for the first time. "You're decently intelligent man, Jervis," Nygma reaffirmed, although there was no sign that the statement was any sort of praise. Superlatives were never to be trusted from the puzzle-maker, as they were almost never genuine. "I couldn't comment on what you two have been through together, but I can certainly take a few decent extrapolations at the last few hours. Now, if you were intellectually refined as I am, you would be able to figure out right now that you're lucky you're even still alive at this point." This was met with pursed lips and a rather contemptuous glare from the scientist, who took such a tale of hindsight and dared to dismiss it. "You may know Jonathan," he said softly in return, "but I implore you to not underestimate me. That's what got Crane that nasty bullet wound in his shoulder."

"I suppose you would also want to brag about my impalement," Jonathan butt in, expression remaining unimpressed with the two as he appeared without warning. Jervis was quickly taken out of the flippant demeanor while Nygma seemed disappointed with himself at not catching Crane's approach.

"Jonathan!" Riddler suddenly greeted with a burst of energy, leaping to his feet. "Right on time. Tetch was just asking about you." A smug expression was thrown the Hatter's way, metaphorically picking him up and putting him on the spot. Jervis took the toss under the bus in stride, however, knitting his fingers together in a formal form of keeping himself from chucking the table at Edward. "Is that so?" Jonathan asked, gaze dropping down to Jervis in unexpressed curiosity. For a man who used to analyze emotions as a his chosen profession, his general demeanor had the same ability to flex as a log. "Of course," Jervis nodded, "I just wanted to know… if… what…" Tetch was bewildered by his own inability to finish the sentence. Ed's smirk came back in full when Jervis trailed off, leaving Jonathan waiting for a question that could possibly never come. Crane silently took a sip of his water, waving a hand to encourage Jervis to continue. The man in the spotlight swallowed thickly, uncertainty clouding his motives.

"How is a raven like a writing desk?" he finally asked, locking away an ever so curiouser nature for the moment. Edward looked triumphant at the silent victory whilst Jonathan merely frowned and shook his head. "I haven't the slightest idea," he answered rather robotically, this being one of the infinite times he'd had to answer an answerless inquiry. "Ah, you disappoint us, Jerv," Ed grinned, backing away from Jonathan. "Never leave it to Tetch, I'll always advise." He shot a suggestive grin to Crane. "You know I'd never leave you disappointed."

Jervis' jaw was left agape as Edward winked and walked away from the group to commence a conversation with Ivy across the room. Jonathan remained stolid, however, watching Ed approach the plant woman. "Histrionic personality disorder," he said simply, looking down at Tetch. "Remarks like that are fairly common among those with his illness." He grimaced in evident displeasure, taking a sip of his water. "I'm surprised he hasn't tried it before. He must be getting too comfortable. So long as he doesn't teeter onto the edge of lecherous, we should be fine as is." His commentary shifted from Edward to Jervis. "Was that really what you were going to ask?"

The uncomfortable mood that had set upon Tetch still lingered as he was once again the center of attention. "Oh… no," he admitted, feeling it too wrong to lie to Jonathan. As usual, Crane merely showed underlying curiosity. "Are you going to ask me the original question?" he then asked. Jervis' expression sagged in momentary embarrassment. "Well… I don't quite want to know anymore," he confessed softly. Crane took a moment to watch him silently, no doubt taking in his every movement as part of a wider analysis of his character. It ended within seconds, but the stare caused the smaller man to feel as though he had been dragged under a microscope. Jonathan merely nodded and took his water with him as he strolled away.

Tetch unconsciously bit his lip, slowly tapping on the table in silent contemplation. "I don't think I ever want to know," he told himself. "I… think I'll simply stick with Jonathan for now." He didn't quite like the idea of a third party tearing apart what was had between him and Crane. So, for the time being, he would merely pretend that there was no Scarecrow, even if that belief was tenuous at best. "Just a bit of teasing from the Dormouse, that's all it is," he told himself, before slumping into crossed arms. "If only I could convince myself of that."

* * *

"Is that a sack of hay I see?"

Jonathan's gaze lifted only slightly to peer at the approaching clown. "Ah, Joker," he greeted slowly. "Whoa there, champ!" Joker exclaimed, taking a step back as if he were about to be bombarded. "Cool it with the excitement! I know you're happy to see me!" Jonathan remained unamused, going back to staring down at a book he had borrowed from the asylum library. Yes, it was drawn on with crayon, but with his glasses he was able to barely make out the words. Joker yanked the seat out from the other side of the table, plopping down and propping his feet up on the table's edge. "I see the baghead lives! Not surprising, seeing as you're probably made up of all straw." He set his feet down for a moment to reach over and jab a finger into his ribs, but his attempts were smacked away by Jonathan's personal bubble defender: his hand. "So! How was your time in the medical ward?" Joker grinned, obviously vying with that book for Jonathan's attention. "How was it? Did you see Jonas there? Or was his name Jimmy? Carrol? Eh, whichever one is missing all his teeth now. Well he never came back so I assume he's dead. You weren't covered in spittle when you returned so that broken arm must've gotten the best of him!"

Jonathan took his gaze off of his book to stare at Joker, blinking slowly to express his infinite contempt. "Ha! Really getting into the conversation, hmm?" Joker grinned, slumping onto the table and drumming his fingers at a rapid pace. "Fine! Since you're so psyched to talk to me, I'll tell you what I came here for. I was going to leave it as a little surprise gift tacked onto our lovely conversation, but I can see that you excitement is boundless!" The Master of Fear paused in his staring to fix the cuffs of his sleeves before lifting his eyes back to the Clown Prince of Crime. "You're a smart man, Crane," Joker complimented, although it was more of a qualifying factor for Joker's attention rather than something he was truly praising. "Chemistry and the like. How long did you have to look at chemical bonds to get that degree, hmm?" He paused to take in Crane's silence. "Well I could really use that head of yours. You see, I'm going to be putting on a little show for the whole of the asylum, but I need a few star actors before we completely set the stage before we make our _grand exit._ " Jonathan's brow lifted slightly to show vague interest and that, yes, he was indeed paying attention. "Ahh, there is is!" the clown laughed, gesturing to his slight change in expression. "I love the energy! Keep it up!" He fell back into his chair, flicking out dirt from under fingernails browned with blood. "I can get a few chemicals for you, a beaker maybe, something to bubble those liquids of yours, a human sacrifice if need be; anything you need I can get. I just need to know you're up to the challenge!"

Jonathan was silent, slowly looking up to the corner of the ceiling to thing it over, before bringing his attention back to Joker. "No thank you," he refused, going back to his book. Clearly not having expected to be denied, focus was once more back on Crane. Gathering up a serious expression, he laid a hand flat on the table. "You know when I say it's 'going to be a challenge', I mean you're just going to do a bit of work. I got Harvey get his boys to supply a few things, you get what I mean?" Jonathan once more took the tine to mindlessly look up to think it over, only to swiftly return to reading. "I'd rather not."

Joker's puzzlement was put on full display here. With a furrowed brow and twisted expression, he had to think about the sudden blockade in his way.

"Ah! I get it. Already have a little plot stewing up, I see?" Joker giggled, tapping his temple. "Well I've been pining to put on this show for several months, but I suppose an easier way out couldn't hurt. I mean, having to choose between two great riot plans? I completely understand." He took this moment to reminisce. "Reminds me back to when I had three bombs, but had to pick between eleven buildings to destroy! How could I choose? I'm only a man!"

"Nothing like that," Jonathan refuted, no longer caring to look up from his book. How one so inherently curt and cold could last a near week with a Hatter so cordial and sporadic was a puzzle all on its own. "I'm just not interested." Joker's newfound silence seemed so unnatural as the man before him tried to end the conversation at every turn. Whatever gears that were spinning inside his head were clearly working their damnedest at that moment, but Crane had no way of telling what he was thinking. Joker was a master of diversion and tricks; any expression of his couldn't be trusted.

"Hmph. I guess that calls for a slight change of plans then," Joker spoke to himself, getting up from his seat. "Well thanks for trying out, but your lack of motivation just won't stick in my little circus. Have a nice day." Crane didn't look up from his book, but was completely cognizant of Joker strolling off and making a complete U-turn back to him. He didn't flinch when he felt the villain stand right behind him, unaffected when that chemical-stained face loomed right above his shoulder, heads almost connecting with how close they were. "You know, bagface," he hummed slowly, garnering no real reaction from the unintimidated man, "there is one more thing I have to tell you." Jonathan's discomfort was finally known when he craned his neck to the side to avoid Joker's foul breath on his ear as he turned to whisper. Letting the silence settle in, a grin split the clown's face wider than ever before. With that, he whispered, "Dimmesdale confesses and dies, Chillingworth doesn't get revenge and dies, and when Hester dies, she's buried next to Dimmesdale with a little funny red A on their tombstone."

A now stunned Crane was left to stare blankly at the pages as Joker gave his shoulder a little pat before walking away. Slowly, he shut the book, slowly pushing the ruined novel away from him until it met the edge, where he kept pushing until the thing toppled over and onto the floor.

"Crane. You have a visitor."

The room grew a bit quiet for a momentary search for the Scarecrow. Jonathan shut his eyes at the bliss of the fleeting silence and looked back at the guard in the doorway with light agitation. It was nothing too hostile. He got up without a word and followed the guard out, the room starting up with noise once more after his departure.

"Pssht. I think Crane's crossing over to the dark side," Joker sneered, watching the door shut and lock tightly. "I thought we were the dark side," Harley mentioned casually, fixing Ivy's hair.

"The side of enlightenment is more like it," Nygma scoffed as he entered their vicinity, pulling up a random seat to integrate into the conversation. "I'll drink to that," Lonnie cheered a few feet away, raising a water cup. "Oh please, you're not even old enough to drink," Lynns chided, already a part of the growing group. "So Crane's out? Can't be too surprised. He just got out of the medical ward and all that."

"Ehh it's something else," Joker was sure, looking back at the locked door. "But it's his loss." He blew a strand of strayed hair from his eyes, leaning back on the table with arms crossed. "Doesn't matter, anyways. We can easily work around that Jonathan-sized hole."

"What exactly we doin' anyhow?" Harley asked, chewing on a lock of her own hair in a bored manner as she finished up with Ivy's hair. Pamela brought a hand back to run her fingers through smooth crimson locks, brow furrowing immediately as she wondered why there was a paper swan strapped to her head with two locks of hair. "As I told you lot before, I want to put on a little show for the whole of Arkham," Joker restated, a grin coming back to his face as he sprang back into his usual demeanor. "However, I need to set the stage, and for that I'm going to need every one of you to chip in and do your part." Nygma and Ivy glanced at one another, seemingly unimpressed by the lack of information that would make such a statement truly viable.

"This must be a rather ambitious plan if you're asking for all of us to take part," Firefly stated, shutting his mouth as soon as a guard moved by. They made sure to keep their voices low in case of prying ears. "Ahh, not just you all," Joker chuckled. "Pyg, Blackfire, Croc, Clayface, every little mouse caught in this big rat cage they call an asylum; we're not talking any old breakout. I'm planning a big bang!"

"Feasible," was all the credit Ed would give him. "If the plan is airtight, I'll be glad to lend my brilliance. I assume you're going to be the star of this little circus?" His guess was quickly met with a smooth chuckle. "Oh ho, Eddie, you have no idea," the clown told him, wrapping an arm around the instantly uncomfortable Edward's shoulder. "I may be the ringleader of this little circus, but the star of the show is just over yonder." All gazes turned to Jervis, who was fixing the makeshift mask he had made for his friend. "Jerv?" Anarky asked for him to aver, more addlepated than feeling any sort of doubt. When on his prescribed medication, the former hatter became more well known for his special brand of geniality than controlling poor souls in the wake of his delusions. "He doesn't seem like the spotlight type. He's cool with it?"

"That, my little chaos maker, is just the twist of it," came the response. Letting go of a relieved Nygma, he planted both palms on the tabletop, grinning madly around at the small group of villains. "No one can tell him."

* * *

 _Naïve._

"All A's."

"All A's?"

"Mmhmm!"

Jonathan folded his hands on the table, the only indicator he was at all suspicious. Seeing this, she turned her head away, fingers beginning to fidget under the table as she hid from his unwavering gaze. "N… n' one B," she finally admitted, her intonation indicating a bout of unease at the question. Crane, however, did not relent. "In what class?" he prodded, canting his head over so slightly as he looked over and down at the much smaller girl. Her eyes refused to meet his, curtained by lengthy locks of chestnut hair. "You're gonna hate me," she excused, nails unconsciously picking on the peeling paint on the table. "I would never," Jonathan insisted in a stable tone. She visibly swallowed, rubbing her neck as a form of self comfort, he recognized. "I, ah… got a B in pre-AP chem."

 _Pointless._

When all was silent, she finally gathered up the courage to raise big gray eyes up to the other's unrevealing grays. Jonathan stayed mum, not sure of how to respond as he kept his expressions firm. "Yer disappointed," she mumbled, her face buried into her sleeves. "Savannah, I am not," he refuted, but that didn't stop the moaning into her sleeves as she seemed ready to engulf herself into her sweater. "Why would I be disappointed?" he tried. "'Cause chemistry is, like, your thing!" Savannah groaning, taking her sleeves away from her face to be heard. "Forget about the grade for now," he told her, folding his arms. "Tell me more about Rachel and Tim. Have you been adjusting alright?"

 _You should have taken Joker up on his offer._

At the mention of her new adoptive parents, she seemed to forget all about previous embarrassments. "Well the new birth certificate finally went through," she explained. "It's official! We went out to eat to celebrate."

Jonathan silently listened, nodding along and brushing aside the occasional rise of that voice within the deep recesses of his mind. He never thought he'd see the day where he would be in this position once again: seated next to and listening to a girl who, by all accounts, was fairly normal. She went to school, now lived in a house, went through normal problems like a B in a science class or possibly a bit of teasing from an adoptive older brother. There was no eavesdropping or subterfuge involved; just a girl who spoke to him as if he were any other mildly distant relative. The girl was young, naïve, maybe even a bit foolish if one dared, but he had ceased asking her to stop returning only a month ago. She was a thin young lady, although not to Jonathan's unhealthy level, and unlike Crane, she truly did look like her mother. He could tell, as every time he spooked her, unintentionally or completely on purpose, she made the same horrified expression their mother did all those years ago. With a sister now beside him, he felt as though he should be ashamed. Instead, he looked back at the memory fondly, finding it to be a keeper for the sake of remembering when his baby sister had still been but an infant. Now here she was, surprising him after a good eleven or twelve years, ready to become that sister he'd never wanted.

 _The half-sister we don't need_.

"Am Ah boring you?" Savannah asked softly, nervously fidgeting with brown locks. "Of course not," he denied. "What makes you say that?"

"You're not saying anything," she noted. "I can't listen when someone else else is talking?" he questioned, brow raised considerably. "No…" she admitted, looking back down at her hands. "Hey, maybe one day I won't have to keep running back to this ol' place n' disrupt your time. Maybe I'll jus be able to walk over and tell you or call you?"

Jonathan once again returned to silence, watching Savannah smile to herself at the thought. "Doesn' that soun' nice?" she asked steadily. He frowned, watching her without answer.

 _It sounds horrid_.

An uplifting curl met his lips, a strange sight for usually blank features. He rested his chin on a hand propped up by the table, letting out a tense, but stressless sigh. Shoulders slumped as all tension left him. For the first time in years, he felt what he could only describe as relaxed. Any of that world-weary demeanor had shed itself just in this one moment where he finally felt it safe to let his guard down. "It sounds lovely…"


	3. Volunteers

**Heads up you guys; time for my first content warning of this story: there's going to be a rather graphic section of this story that involves a rather unfortunate fate of some cops. Nothing completely explicit, but I did try to ramp up the tone of this one, so please read at your own risk.**

* * *

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoo-!"

Machin paused, staring at Harley's contorted hands in brief puzzlement. "Harley," he deadpanned, putting his closed fist down. "One, I told you we were playing 'Rock, Paper, Scissors, _Shoot_." He stared at the still weirdly positioned hands. "Second, what the hell is that?"

Harley looked down at her hands before delivering a cheerful, if not a bit cocky grin. "You said we were playing 'Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot', so I am!" She lifted her hands just slightly, sticking out her tongue playfully. "This is my bazooka. What else would you shoot with?"

Lonnie stopped to look down at his hand, frowning and regretting the fact that he had been intending on using paper. "I guess I can't really argue against that." Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he instinctively balled them to keep them warm. He let out a sigh, grimacing when he finally noticed that tuft of vapor escape from him as his heated exhale greatly combatted against the frigid air. A quick gaze around let the scenery be known: a damp exercise yard from a recent downpour left a rather murky atmosphere about the place. He looked back up at her with another inscrutable expression. "You're just trying to get out of this, aren't you?" he huffed, discarding the simple decision-making process. To this Harley threw up her hands as affirmation of her motive. "Of course I am!" she groaned, slumped against the chair. "I don't wanna do this. You don't wanna do this. This is just a horrible idea!" She took a moment to think back on her choice of words. "Well, I mean, it's a great idea, it's just a bit…" She jerked her head to the side, silently gesturing to the two crazies across the yard. Lonnie made the decision to ignore the internal voice telling him to not reflexively stare at them, but he couldn't help himself, casting a back the two villains in question.

Zsasz had only just gotten out of solitary confinement and yet he was sucked into Joker's scheme already, ready to throw poor Jervis into the meat grinder; whatever that entailed. Being one of the more notorious super-criminals around Gotham, it wasn't a surprise if Joker was keeping a few things under wraps. What they did know, unfortunately, were the bloody details that made up the bulk of the plan. Just the way he could see Viktor rubbing at a missing fifth tally along the heavily scarred area of his neck indicated he was itching to sate that need in his mind. Valentin was nothing if not oblivious to Machin's stare, rambling from in a seat beside Zsasz too distant to hear as he let unsound thoughts be known to a listening serial killer. Zsasz caught the watcher's gaze, flicking a knowing grin his way as he moved to rub a thumb over a self-made gash parallel on his arm. Lonnie instinctively cringed at the mere intensity of the look, twisting his gaze back to Harley. "I don't care if Joker throws me under a bus; I can't do it," he admitted, crossing his arms in self-comfort. "I'll bomb the corrupt. I'll lead a riot. I'll take over the GCPD. But, I'm sorry, I can't do _this_." He gestured carelessly to her hands. "Even if you have a bazooka." Harley audibly huffed like a child, slumping further down into her seat. "Well I don't either!" she pouted. "Maybe Baby Doll can take it. Or Garfield. Harvey. Someone else!"

"Lynns and I already have a job, so he'll definitely refuse," Anarky pointed out. "You know what to do with Dr. Picard, so technically we just have to find someone without anything to do." Keeping his gaze as casual as possible, he scanned around. "Crane?" he suggested, spotting the thin doctor. "Ooh, no," Harley grimaced, "he ain't part of our little circus, so he's out." Lonnie looked confused at the revelation, but decided it was a matter for a different time. "Okay, so not him," he ruled out, gazing around a bit more. "Ooh, how about Wesker?"

Harley visibly lit up at the suggestion, looking wildly around until she spotted the old man and his dummy. "Arnie? Oh I couldn't do that to him," she pouted, drumming her fingers along the table to ease mild discomfort. "Besides, how would we convince him?" Arnold was completely oblivious of the plot to include him, watching Jonathan feed some birds as he sat with his boss comfortably seated in his lap. "Well we don't exactly need to convince Arnie," Machin replied, feel the same uncertainty as his older friend. "We just need to convince Scarface, and he'll do the rest."

Quinn considered the idea for a brief moment, before smiling and seemingly accepting the plan. "Scarface it is!" she agreed. With a pat on the table and a wink to her younger companion, she rose to her feet and winked at him. Anarky just shifted, shooing her away so they could just get this over with. He was just glad to not have to go with Zsasz or Pyg; he felt himself growing nauseous at the very thought of what they would do. He had killed before, but, well, this was on a whole other level for him. He dared to glance over once more, watching Jervis and Edward speak without fear as an unnerved weight settled in his chest. "Sorry Jervis…" he muttered under his breath, turning away solely so his guilt wouldn't tear him apart. Tetch had no idea what Joker had in store for him.

As Harley walked down the path to Wesker, she was startled as a crow darted pst her to take its perch on a professor's arm. Taking a glance at the seated man, the wheels turned in her head to make a decision on whether to interrogate the Ventriloquist then or to catch up with an old friend. Simple question, really. A grin growing on her face, she spun around to Jonathan, who sat by silently and busying himself with birds until the end of the period. "Heya, Docta Crane!" she greeted cheerily, quickly taking the seat on the table with a rather sudden leap back as he continued to feed his bird friends rotten meat. She received a few angry squawks, the birds seemingly agitated with her presence. Crane took a moment to process her appearance, letting out a short inhale to indicate his similarly short demeanor. Still, he wasn't asking her to leave. "Ah. A good evening, Miss Quin," he greeted back, his reserved tone greatly contrasting to the other doctor's.

"How've you been holding up?" Harley smiled down at him, her legs kicking alternatively off the edge in a child-like idle state. "Fine," he replied, brusque as always. This brought about puffed cheeks and a playfully narrowed gaze. "You ain't come see or talk to me since you got out of the hospital."

"You did eat some of the meat I had for the birds," Crane mentioned, being careful to tiptoe around the wording lest he be misconstrued. Harley, however, didn't buy it. Lying on her side until she was now he one looking up at him once again, she didn't mind the birds looking to peck angrily at her. "They sure are angry today," she made note, catching the professor's roll of his eyes. Crane didn't hesitate to explain with a blunt, "You chased them around the yard. They are quite displeased with you."

Harley watched the birds twist their heads to look at her oddly, wondering if one would take this golden opportunity to pluck her eye out. With pigtails spilt over the table, even she couldn't help but grimace when one corvid gots its claws stuck in her hair. "Somethin' on your mind, Docta?" she observed. Jonathan gazed down at her, eyes silently searching to see if there would be a way to lie his way out of this one. She just giggled, shaking her head so they would be in mutual understanding. "You can't lie to me, Prof."

Crane seemed to admit defeat in the slight frown he gave. His eyes rose to watch Harley's hand lift up to level at his chest. It stayed there for a moment, Harley herself not saying anything. The doctor was tempted to let it hang there or outright deny it, but instead he let it happen with a nod. Immediately he was prodded repeatedly in the chest with a sharp-nailed finger. "What is it what is it what is it?" she demanded in rapid succession, watching his body tense and lean away ever so slightly with each pointed jab. Large blue eyes stared intently into his tired grays, trying to unlock some secret as if her revoked medical license would float down from the sky and grace her with mind-reading abilities. "Is it… because I chased your birds?"

Without waiting for a response, quickly picked a few bits of meat, offering it to the largest of the bunch. "Truce?" Katrina looked at her oddly, her trust for the clown having been broken after being chased around the yard. Crows never forget a face, after all. However, she received a small stroke of her feathers from Crane, and soon all was forgiven as she gobbled down the discarded meat. "Am I upset by it?" Jonathan was soon to reply. "Hardly. Although, I will admit that the, ahem—" he noticeably paused, swallowing thickly "—Master of Fear is not keen on showing an acquaintance such a fondness for birds only to find her chasing them like children."

Harley gave that childish pout up at him, putting on the demeanor of a kid begging for forgiveness. Of course he knew her boredom got the better of her; she practically had the attention span of a child, after all. She already know he held no ill will towards her, however, and so her focus was rather on that pause in his recent statement. "Is it about Scarecrow?"

Crane said nothing to this, not an outright denial. The rather irritated look he gave her upon bringing them up, however, only led her to conclude she was on the wrong path. "Well it's something," she fussed. "I don't like seeing you all mopey. You're better when you're a grump ready to bite my fingers off. Like a goblin!" That excited edge lot its luster as she seemed to come to a slow realization that this wasn't a normal bad day. She sat up, running her fingers through tangled hair to watch him slump slightly, any of that rather stiff grouchiness no longer present. It was almost like watching a child accept the fact that he had been caught and was awaiting a punishment. She stopped kicking her legs, placing her hands in her lap. "Everything alright, Johnny?"

Jonathan stayed quiet for the most part, wiping off his hand as the birds found it appropriate to leave now, supposedly to give them space. Harley was disappointed, but didn't take offense to their sudden leave. "I believe it's best that I relieve my mind; get something off of my chest, if you will," Crane said softly, taking some of the water that had pooled on the ground from last night's drizzle onto his hands and cleaning them off. "I figured that as a psychiatrist, known associate, and former colleague from a professional standpoint, I found it best to tell you."

Harley soaked all of the information in, a grin spreading to her face once more as she was entered into another round of the guessing game. "That's real interesting— oh! Lemme guess! You got a little scheme all on your own." A sly grin came to her face, leering at him prying eyes. Jonathan remained phlegmatic, although silently amused by her excitable nature. "No," he simply replied, causing Harley to venture another guess with, "Okay okay, you've decided to take up knitting?"

"No."

"You're dating again?"

"Eugh, no."

"You got parol?"

"Oh ho, no."

"You're changing your costume to a crowscare!"

"I'm sorry— a what?"

"It's this great graphic novel Garfield showed me in the library about a giant mutant crow that eats people."

"I'm not very keen on graphic novels but noted. But also— no."

Harley rubbed her chin intensely, trying to solve this complex riddle herself. "Okay, you got me," she admitted with a deadpan. "I got nothin'."

Jonathan waited until he had fully fallen silent before letting out a soft sigh. "I'm done," he spoke finally, fingers intertwined and folded as a weight had seemingly been lifted off of his shoulders. Harley's visual response was almost bird-like in nature, staring with wide eyes and a tilted, curious head. "Done?" she parroted back, resting her chin on a propped up hand. "You mean… done with smoking or something?"

"I don't smoke," replied Jonathan flatly. "Well you used to," Harley reminded him. "And like a chimney! Every time you dealt with a patient you needed to inhale some tobacco."

Jonathan was unamused, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his temples. "I'm done… with everything. The crime. The dressing up." He let out a tired sigh. "With Scarecrow and with this life in general." He sunk his face into his hands, letting out a tense exhale. "Before you say anything," he continued, moving a hand to rub at his arm in a way that indicated he had been released from this tight hold, "this isn't something I'm going to change my mind over. I simply… don't want to go through with such… inane escapades anymore. I'm tired of it all, it seems..."

"You don't want to go through with just being Scarecrow? Or the escape plan? Is that why you don't want no part of Joker's plan?" Harley pried. Like Jervis, she couldn't help but wear that heart of hers on her sleeve, although she was always better at keeping her looks more towards neutral when she put on the effort. Even so, he could clearly see a more distraught countenance with her, leaning more on disappointment than nearing devastation.

Hw dwelled on the question for a moment, wondering just how to answer such a question before he felt a rise of energy build up inside of him. "Everything!" Crane exclaimed, the raised voice highly out of character for such a restrained doctor. There was a moment of realization at his own voice. Before he knew it, everything began spilling from his mouth, raising his voice just low enough to not draw the attention of the yard, "I'm tired of Batman and getting bones broken and risking my life in the pursuit of a flawed and impossible form of altruism and a foolish need for fear! I'm tired of Arkham! I'm tired of wondering if each passing police siren is coming for me! I'm tired of going to court and wondering if they'll finally take me out of this pitiful existence and give me the death penalty. That maybe some day Lyle Bolton will find his way into my cell once again and finish what _he's done to me!_ " The last words were spoken with so much venom and malice that he had actually caught himself by surprise, forcing himself into a brief stop in order to keep himself from lamenting over the incident that had practically destroyed him. "I'm just… tired." Harley was silent, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, only to have him jerk away as he seethed to himself. His anger evaporated rather quickly, his hands leaving his temples to go to his face, letting out an exhausted groan at the revelation he had just thrown out. "That was… unbelievably releasing to say aloud," he whispered, not able to gaze up at Harley's frankly startled expression. His tone had been beaten down as his shoulders slumped heavily. He let out another weighted sigh as he seemed to just be letting all the heavy thoughts crash down from off of his back. Crane rubbed at tired eyes, looking around at the exercise yard with a more lethargic twist of his head. "I've done this for just over a decade now. I'm burnt out, I'm tired of all this, and at this point in time, I feel as though I'm nearing the end of the age spectrum for this line of work. I think it best that I cut off near everyone associated with the Scarecrow persona at this point."

Harley couldn't hold back a chuckle, finding the last accusation against himself rather preposterous, since Wesker, Blackfire, and Fries easily surpassed his age. Even Jervis was a year or so older, and yet during his more intense delusions, he retained the energy of a child. "Oh don't be so hard on yourself," she encouraged. "You're not that old. You're just as young and spry as I am!"

"Harleen, I am close to a decade your senior," he stated bluntly, causing Harleen to giggle. "Standards aren't really that high, bud," she grinned, taking his confession rather lightly. A wave of seriousness washed over him at her rather flippant attitude. "Harley, I need to know that you respect my decision," he demanded rather gravely, finding regret in confiding his thoughts with her. To this, Harley's features took on a far more apologetic and subsequently respectful look about her. A small smile crossed her face as she reached over the table, gesturing to his hand. When he hesitantly nodded, she went about taking his much thinner hand into hers. He visibly tensed, though saying nothing of it and simply letting her continue. He kept his thoughts calm; he trusted Harley more than most. Her smile widening and still keeping a certain tenderness, she squeezed his hand lightly and nodding understandably. "Doc, I won't judge you for nothin'. Whatever you decide in the end, I'm behind you a hundred percent."

Jonathan stared at her blankly for a time. Harley retained that smile for him, and to her reward, it broke him. His lips curled upwards for a split second before engaging into a full on smile. "Thank you," he whispered softly. He just seemed so relieved in that one moment that his previously odd behavior felt completely justified. He nodded to her slowly, before hearing that familiar call from the guards signaling it was time to go back inside. He gently pulled away, straightening out his shirt silently as he got up. He looked up briefly to see Harley gestured coyly at him after she had hopped down from her seat.

Although he had nodded, he was more than surprised when she suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace. She was on her toes just to reach his towering stature, but squeezed lightly enough so as to not snap his spine in half. His discomfort was more than evident in the way he stiffened like a cat, which was why she made sure the hug was brief. She looked up at him afterwards with a beaming smile. "I'm proud of ya Johnny," she grinned, patting his arm. "Not everyone can do it. Just promise you'll at least visit when you're all good and clean."

Jonathan was left wordless as Harley gave him one last smile before leaving to pursue Wesker. The smile had fallen from his expression long before then, but that didn't mean he was upset. Far from it, if he were to be honest with himself. He took a slow look around, checking to see if anyone had seem their little interaction. So far so good, it seemed, up until he realized near everyone was staring at him. Even still, he rolled his eyes, ignoring their gazes. It wasn't as though he ever planned on associating with them ever again once he was considered sane.

As he reentered the building, he went back on that thought. "Well, maybe Harley," he finally admitted to himself.

* * *

"You're looking rather well," Jervis mentioned slowly, hand steady on the needle. Jonathan's gaze rose only just to watch the two with an unwavering stare. "And how do I normally look?"

Jonathan asked politely, hand moving around the board at a steady pace. Jervis seemed to face difficulties in answering such a direct question, looking to Nygma for help. "Well…"

"You look like the top Google image search result for the word 'regret'," Riddler summed up, hands steepled and propped up on the table. The look received was, as usual, unamused. "So what happened out there? A tender moment between acquaintances?" Edward suggested, watching Jonathan set the pieces to the chessboard. "Friends, more like it," Crane corrected, knowing full well the implications and ramifications of the word. Jervis looked up from his craft of sewing together a simple coat in order to deliver a rather mousy expression. Uneasiness seemed to settle within him as he nervously fiddled with the needle, something he was only allowed to have whilst in the recreation room. "A friend, is she?" he tittered, voice tenuous as it was clear he had some underlying emotions about the word itself. "Yes, a friend," Jonathan confirmed. To that, Jervis let out a slow huff, fixing his gaze on the chessboard instead of up at Jonathan. "How frabjous," was all the praise he was willing to give. "Certainly different, I must admit."

"I _feel_ different," Crane came to ultimately confess, setting the last piece. Nygma merely scoffed, his eyes turning to watch Jervis sew as he continued to talk to Jonathan. "Different medication, I presume?" he asked, glancing back at Jonathan every now and then to notice him playing around with a rook. "If so, I'll have whatever you're having."

"Oh poppycock," Jervis scolded lightly, a bit of that posh Hatter leaking into his words. The Hatter always insisted on far more grand and ornate dialect, but Jervis found no need to hold it whilst on his medication. "You don't even take medication. You're only prescribed therapy." As the two engaged in another conversation about the legitimacy of medication in the context of Edward's place in the asylum, Jonathan silently listened on, thin fingers wrapped around the thick base of the essential piece, letting his mind wander aimlessly.

 _Shhh._

Jonathan stopped his fiddling with the rook, a sudden weight entrapping his mind. He swallowed, fingers tensely gripping the chess piece as he could faintly hear the noise in the back of his mind. He hoped it was all merely imagination. "Pardon me, what was that?" he entreated Edward, capturing the mastermind's attention. Ed's brow knitted in obvious puzzlement, trying to figure out if Jonathan had been alarmed by a subject of their talks or of it was merely a case of poor hearing. Jervis' sewing slowed, also showing that hint of curiosity that was innate in the Hatter buried deep under a heavy mound of pills and strict therapy. At Edward's silent beckon for elaboration, Jonathan squeezed the piece in his hand. "Did you say something?" he inquired once more, silently begging Riddler to throw him a bone.

 _Can you hear it?_

"No, I don't believe I mentioned you," Ed replied, thinking back to only moments ago and scanning for any possible slip of the tongue about the doctor.

 _It's returned._

That's when the noise finally registered in his mind. It had initially been faint, barely noticeable in fact, but now that it finally had his attention, it rung in his ears like a metronome placed directly in his head. That obnoxious, repetitive, terrifying _ticking_.

" _Oh dear dear, as much as you like your names, I'll never get you to call me by proper name, will I?"_

" _Friends? Is that what you think we were?"_

" _I know you, Jonathan. You are the Master of Fear, yes, but sometimes you forget that you are still human."_

" _I'll help you. Just like I was always supposed to."_

" _You know, Jonathan, you're not as scary as everyone says you are."_

 _How could you be so foolish?_

Jonathan's breathing became shallow, forcing himself to a stand on shaky legs. From the startled expressions of the two other villains, Crane must have gone to proper to a wreck in a matter of seconds. Even the brusqueness of his getting up had caused the table to thump just a bit, and in the process, Jervis' needle and thread spool tumbled to the floor.

Jonathan attempted to keep his breathing level and his thoughts collected, but he needed to know where that ticking was coming from. The noise was easily traced back to a lone clock perched up on the wall, one that had replaced the previously cracked, old clock that had been through a hefty amount of damage, but it had been _silent_. He had half the mind to take the piece off the wall and smash it onto the ground, but his wrist was held back by his own hand. Arms tucked in tightly, he turned away from the clock with a speed he could only show when in a costume. "I need to go," he said hurriedly, leaving no room for explanation as he made his way over to a guard by the door, who was immediately on guard as per usual in case of potential threat.

"I need to see Professor Strange," Crane murmured under laboring breathing, making the noise just low enough for the guard to hear. The guard immediately got the hint, gesturing to his partner across the room to keep a sharp eye out for any trouble before taking Crane out of the room and guiding him down the hall.

Edward stared at the door blankly, taking a small glance at the ground before turning to look at Jervis. "What in the world got into him?"

Tetch blinked turning to stare up at him with a confused countenance and a frown before realizing that Edward's look was implying something. "Well now, don't you blame it on me!" he defended, getting rather huffy when stares turned towards him. "Not all breakdowns are caused by severe neurological manipulation, dear Nygma, and they're certainly not all caused by me if that's what you're implying." His tone quickly calmed as Ed's hands went up in defeat. Frustration and bewilderment morphing into worry, he looked back at the door Crane had left through, wondering if he would be able to see him soon enough. "Oh I do hope they don't keep him for long again. I was just getting used to having him back."

"'Having him back?'" Ed repeated, but merely left it at observation instead of anything else. He pushed back his seat, already coming to a stand. "I'm sure he'll be back soon enough. Whatever the doctors did to cure his symptoms before will no doubt aid him once more." Hoping that statement would ease Jervis' mind, he left it at that and moved over to Baby Doll across the room.

Jervis retained his frown, looking back and up at the wall-mounted clock in slight curiosity. "That trigger must still be in his head," he murmured, a secret he dared not reveal to Nygma lest he face judgement from the other. Moving from his seat, he bent down to search for the lost needle and spool of thread. "I told the Dormouse, I told the doctors, and I told Batman; I'm the only one that can truly fix him." An unintended giggle left his lips as his hand ran over the carpet, finding nothing. "My March Hare still needs me." This time a chuckle escaped him, the Hatter inside leading him into fantasies he hadn't entertained since the first two weeks of their capture.

The titter soon died away, however, when he realized he wasn't finding the sewing supplies he was looking for. He swallowed, eyes widened as a slow welling of anxiety began to consume him. He frantically went about searching for the needle, checking under every chair and table nearby as it dawned on him that the tool was gone. "Ohhh dear," he whispered, eyeing the guards nervously. The needle was a part of his privileges for being a well-mannered patient, but if he was unable to return it, the guards would take it that he had abused his privilege, since if it was missing then it either meant he gave it away or he was hiding it elsewhere. If he was found to be a betrayer of trust, the king's court would surely not be kind to the poor Hatter.

Jervis' frantic search came to an end when a large shadow overwhelmed his short frame. Wide-eyed and a shake coming to his body, he dared to look up at one of the two guards that were left in the room, a edgy smile coming to his face. "Oh… oh my."

* * *

"You have it?" Edward was quick to ask Baby Doll, who presented the needle proudly. With such a small figure, hardly anyone saw her creep up and take the spool. "Ahh that's our little rascal!" Joker laughed, coming over and ruffling her tuffs of blonde hair with a feigned proud grin. "Good job on Crane. How'd you manage that?"

To this, Dahl shrugged, not taking credit for Crane's leave. That was one aspect the group had worried about when they noticed Jervis had come to sit with Jonathan whilst he sewed up material. "I dunno," she answered honestly. "Happy coincidence, I guess. It got getting the needle a whole lot easier than that funny little distraction Garfield had cooked up with all those paper swans we got Laz to make."

Valentin audibly pouted in the corner, sounding disappointed he didn't get to show off the origami skills he had learned in art therapy. Zsasz snickered the chair across from him, but let Lazlo have his disappointment. However, his mood was instantly brightened when he was given the needle and spool of thread. "Ahh, my my my! This is perfect!" Lazlo praised, quickly being shushed at his lack of an indoor voice. He huffed, tucking the tool away in the neck of his uniform so no one would be able to see it.

It was then that Lynns came into view, taking a short look back at the guard to make sure he was busy before proudly showing off the box cutter and screwdriver he had acquired through Pamela. "Well, the cold bitch actually did it!" Joker grinned, seeming rather surprised. "Hm. Clever girl that one. How'd she manage that one? Some of that loopy perfume of hers?"

"Can't," Ivy answered before Lynns could get the chance to speak for her. "The saltwater solution they inject into me keeps me from producing pheromones, communicating with plants, the whole shebang." She scoffed, looking at the group with slight disdain. "You think if I still had the ability that I'd be stuck here hanging out with you lot instead of protecting my babies? Please. I had to steal them the old fashioned way. After all— women have far more hiding spots than men." She smirked and gave Joker a wink, before pulling out a chicken nugget from her thick locks of hair and proceeding to eat it. No doubt Harley's more uncouth habits were rubbing off on her partner's usually lady-like disposition. All those nights of Harley being able to sneak food into their cell must have finally gotten to her.

"Dude," Lynns deadpanned, engendering glare at him as she swallowed the snack. "What? I didn't get time to eat all my lunch and women's shower period is coming up in a couple hours so I'll be clean soon enough," she defended herself, despite refusing to look at him. "No, I'm more jealous of the fact that you can use your hair to hide food," Lynns mentioned, rubbing his own bald head, a majority of his scalp marred with scars several shades darker than his already dark skin. "If I hadn't burnt all of it off, I probably would have grown it out just to hide shit in there." He just a smirk just thinking about it. "Mm. Maybe an afro. You can hide tons of shit in there."

"Ehhh well I suppose you can't get any uglier," Joker chuckled, grabbing the tools from Firefly and handing them to Pyg, who looked at them in slight disdain. Joker quirked a brow, taking a step back. "What? Not good enough for you, Pyggy?"

"I don't quite adore finger painting, as I find it quite crude, but I suppose I can make something from these rather amateur paints you have given me," Valentin sighed, looking over the tools before discretely storing them under his uniform when he saw that one of the guards was heading over.

"Nygma." Edward stiffened when his name was called, giving the others a rather pleading look before turning to look at the Officer Cash. Joker just giggled in the background, finding that it was going to be an interesting experience coming up. Aaron looked Ed up and down, as if surveying the Riddler for the needle that had disappeared. "Can I help you?" Ed sneered, not missing the depressingly pleading look coming from Jervis a ways away as he was kept still by the second guard. If Edward didn't fess up, Tetch was certainly going to pay the price. "Give it to me straight, Nygma," Cash said firmly, "do you know where Jervis' needle is?"

Ed immediately went dry in the mouth, his compulsion suddenly hitting him. "An artist. A sculptor. A visionary. A reshaper of man. I am all of these in the eyes of one. If I come to fix you, no one else can. Who am I?" The room soon went quiet as nearby villains gave him a dangerous look. Ed was forced to watch Aaron light up in slight surprise. While he wasn't aware of what the answer was, another one had just been revealed to him. While it wasn't any secret that the Riddler was a hard enigma to solve in of himself, one fact that was well-known and more than valuable to the authorities of Arkham Asylum was that Edward was unable to lie. He could skip around a subject, avoid it altogether, or muddle the truth with riddles, but a compulsion for truth-telling that had been instilled in him by an abusive father caused him to be unable to tell a straight up lie. This was why he couldn't stand misinformation or kept spouting riddles; enigmas were his only way of avoiding the truth. So when that riddle ended up spilling from his mouth, Aaron immediately knew something was up.

"So… you do know where it is?" Cash assumed, watching Ed attempt keep his cool. Nygma frowned, looking ready to give some snarky remark or biting observations, but the group knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. "Trust me, Ed's not hiding anything," Lynns defended, wrapping an arm around the uncomfortable man's shoulder. "You think he could walk within five feet of us and resist telling us all about it? Pfft, I think not. Right, Mary?" He shot a look down at Dahl, who smiled widely and shrugged. "Mista Eddie knows not to play with needle cuz they're sharp!" she giggled, placing both hands behind her back and rocking back and forth on her feet. If Edward couldn't lie, he had to rely on others to lie for him.

Cash looked unimpressed, looking around at the small group before refocusing on Nygma. "Once again, Ed. Do you know where the needle is?"

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking," Nygma defended, taking any route he could to avoid revealing the location of the needle. "Nor did I give it to one of these nutjobs. You think that I would ever trust them with a sharp object? Please. That's a one way ticket to makeshift lobotomy by the Professor over here."

Lynns' arm became a little tighter around the Riddler's shoulder as he nearly gave away a good chunk of their plan. He was cutting it close, but foreshadowing was almost engrained into his very soul. Cash gave a heavy sigh, now knowing he would need to do this the hard way. "Alright, Ed. Hands on the wall."

A soft groan spilled from Edward, but he acquiesced nonetheless. He yanked himself from Garfield's grasp, moving over to the wall with a muttering over his breath. He placed his hands on the wall, glaring spitefully at the peeling paint as if it was somehow to blame for all this. Cash soon came up behind him, touching around his arms and legs and whatnot, even at one point ruffling through his well-kempt hair. While a needle was relatively small, it had been tied to a spool, which certainly protruded farm more. Luckily no nuggets fell out or else there would be some other questions, not that Ed was that unsanitary. The search was thorough, ending with Cash flashing a light into Nygma's mouth in search of the tool. "Hmm. Nothing. Seems that you're just weird," Cash stated.

"Not going to do a full cavity search?" Edward asked, rightfully feeling violated at the moment. To that, Ivy scoffed. "Trust me. We'd know if he needed to go _that_ deep, Ed," she muttered, face flexing in disgust.

"Don't worry. We'll get a search of the rest of you when you head back to your cells," Cash stated, before heading back to Jervis. The Hatter in question looked absolutely terrified upon realizing that Cash hadn't found anything, knowing that this meant time spent in solitary confinement, every prisoner's worst nightmare. While regular asylums weren't equipped with such an inhumane function, Arkham was specifically meant for the criminally insane, meaning it took a few more liberties with its design, although confinement was shortened to no more than a week at the most. Despite his purposeful involvement in what was to come, Ed couldn't help but feel a building up of guilt inside of him. Everyone stared as Jervis was interrogated at his table, stuttering and babbling out inane words in an attempt to save himself.

"Joker," Lonnie said, strolling over to the group with a hushed voice. "You never said solitary was part of the plan." To this, Joker merely rolled his eyes, as if the kid was complaining about daisies instead of watching another man be threatened with what was essentially mental torture. "Never said it," Joker confirmed, "but it's not like you would have agreed to do it if you'd known." Machin wasn't alone, as the look of lingering guilt was present on almost everyone involved. Even Pyg hid his masked face, turning away slightly so as to not have to face what he was letting happen.

The collective guilt obviously annoyed the Joker, who crossed his arms sauntered over to Ed. "You don't have any problem with this, do you?" he asked casually, rocking on his heels. Edward merely grimaced, taking his attention away from Jervis for once. Seeing his silence, Joker scoffed. "What? You worried for the pipsqueak?"

"After what we're planning tonight? Solitary will break him," he stated, believing every bit of what he spouted. The look of contempt couldn't have been greater from the clown, but he didn't seem to exude any sort of anger or surprise.

"Alright," Joker then shrugged, moving to lean against the table Ivy had seated herself at. "You think you're above this, you smart cookie you? Fine then. We can easily quit this little barrage on the little hat freak. All you need to do is go over there, and tell the guards who has the needle." Silence enveloped the group, the only noise to be heard was Jervis fruitlessly defending himself. All eyes were on Edward, who refused to look back at Jervis getting interrogated. "Nothing?" Joker asked, faking an expression of shock. "Why not? He's your little pal, ain't he? Totally worth giving up freedom and a chance to dish out all those silly riddles of yours. Don't you want that?" When Ed refused to answer, Joker turned to the rest of the group. "Well, how about all of you? I'll call this entire thing off if you just go over there and admit that our Pyggy is holding a little secret under that uniform of his. First one to do so is guaranteed several more months in Arkham Asylum! A luxury vacation with free meals and the finest staff to wait on you." He grinned cockily as he jabbed a thumb towards Cash, who was too busy with Jervis and the other guard to notice the toned down speech. Even still, no one spoke up. Glances were exchanged, everyone silently asking the others to do what they couldn't do themselves. The atmosphere was tense and rather uncomfortable as each member was simultaneously called out; well, at least the ones that actually had an iota of care for the little man. Men like Blackfire and Zsasz just listened to the conversation with nothing but amusement. Many others were simply bothered by the fact that they were going after a man who, of the entire rogue's gallery, had the least amount of ill will. Sure he kidnapped women from time to time to live out his delusions, but it wasn't like he ever went out seeking to destroy. He didn't hurt the unintelligent or burn down hospitals or instill fear into school children or try to kill an actor or bomb corrupt city officials. It might have been a little startling to see this twinge of remorse in a few of the villains, but it should have surprised no one when not a single person took Joker up on his offer.

"Sorry, Tetch, it's solitary," Aaron said with a shake of his head, moving the blabbering Jervis along. He paused to look at the other guard, who would soon become another piece of debris in the Asylum's coming storm. "Kieth is still helping with Crane. Just keep watch while I get Tetch to solitary." With that, Jervis was unjustly dragged from the room, his pleadings falling on deaf ears.

Joker smirked, waiting until Cash had completely disappeared before looking at the group once more. "Sure you can care about the little teabag, but in the end, we only look after ourselves." A short laugh escaped him as he moved to Wesker. "We are what we are, after all."

He left the group in silence, each one glancing at another, but most keeping their gazes on Edward. Nygma felt rightfully offended that blame seemed to shift onto him that Jervis was being unjustly punished. "Why are you all looking at me?" he snapped angrily.

"Well, we heard that Jervis convinced Jonathan to save your life," Ivy mentioned casually, arms crossed with a passive expression to express her usual contempt. "We just sort of assumed you were going to pay him back that way." Edward's face heated some, looking away. He shot a glare towards the now empty table and its accompanying chairs and abandoned chessboard, muttering out, "Oh it's not like he's going to die. He'll be thanking me once we're out of here; I'm sure of it." It wasn't a lie if you truly believed it.

Over with Joker, he was glad to see Harley chatting up one of the oldest members of their group, Wesker, who was tugging at his collar skittishly and making sure Scarface was seated neatly on his thigh. Scarface himself turned his head up with a bored expression, donning a matching little patient uniform. The doctors had been quick to realize that Scarface an almost essential part of Arnold, and so it was decided that instead of taking the puppet away and causing near irreparable emotional instability for the Ventriloquist, it was best to reform Scarface before they could ever reform Arnold. It wasn't a problem for the other patients, who found the dummy to be endlessly more entertaining than the wholesome and kind-hearted Wesker.

"Well well, if it isn't the biggest dummy in this madhouse! You're looking well-off," Joker greeted, pulling up a char to sit beside the two. Harley looked over in slight disgust, inching her chair a few centimeters away from the clown. The prince of crime looked down at Scarface. "Not looking too bad yourself, Scar." Scarface's wooden brow shot up, well eyes shifting to express his amusement. He was so well-made even his eyelids were able to half-moon his eyes with just a tilt of his head. It was like those Disney costume heads that were able to blink with a certain movement of the actor involved. "Ha! Whatta card!" he laughed, not minding as Arnold neatly repositioned his tiny hands back onto his lap. "What'd I tells ya, Dummy? Ain't he the funniest damn clown you ever did see?" He turned his head up to look at Arnold, who in turn seemed rather surprised to be called out like this. Wesker forced a small smile and a polite nod with a quiet, "Yes, Mr. Scarface. He's hilarious."

"Ehh, who asked ya?" Scarface muttered, before turning his attention to Joker. "Plannin' on puttin' on a lil' shindig, are ya? The dame here was real intrested in getting' me signed on. You ain't gonna put my dummy in the hole, iz yas?" His accent was completely overdone from a man who had probably never stepped foot in a mob house in his life, but it was considered charming by anyone not readily creeped out by Wesker's love for his puppet. "Oh you have my word," Joker grinned, nudging his tiny arm a little with far bigger chemical-burned fingers. "Between you and me? Reliable hired help is so hard to find these days!" He made an obvious gesture to Harley, who angrily stuck her tongue out at him. "I mean, you let them stay in your hideout only for them to stab you in the back and run off with a flower!"

"Eh. Bitches are bitches," Scarface shrugged, not noticing how Ivy had to sprint over to hold Harley back. "I've been locked up in dis pen for far too long. Tell ol' Vicky to keep his grubby hands off of him, 'lright?" His head tilted back to look at Arnold. Well? What're ya waitin' for, dummy? Dinna? Do it!"

Arnold squeaked at the command, nodding eagerly and bringing himself to a shaking stand. "Y-y-yes Mr. Scarface!" he gasped, approaching Harley with a coy smile. Harley perked up after being released by Ivy, welcoming the puppet with outstretched arms. As soon as the doll was in her arms, she sunk her hand into his back, grinning as she figured out how to make Scarface's mouth to move. Arnold smiled silently, adjusting his glasses and tugging at his collar as the room became overly stuffy.

With a nervous gaze, Wesker turned his attention to Zsasz and Pyg in the corner, the two rambling on about perfection and zombies and the like. Victor looked over to Joker, as if checking on progresses, before his scan met Wesker's eyes. A malicious smile appeared on the serial killer's face, rubbing another mark that had been placed so carefully along his neck. The scratches were fairly deep, lining four in total, but Wesker noted that it was missing that fifth diagonal talley that would have made it a complete set. A shuddering breath left the Ventriloquist, who rubbed at his own neck on reflex, forcing himself to be ready for what was inevitably about to happen to him. He took one last look back at Harley and Scarface. Quinn grinned and amateurishly moved the puppet's mouth as she said in an exaggerated gruff voice, "Hey! Get a move on, Dummy!" Of course, her lips were moving, but it's not like Arnold could really tell the difference. Joker, of course, was tossing insincere adulation to him in the background, but it had been his boss' approval that he had been seeking. The lackey nodded quickly, taking quickened steps over to Zsasz and Pyg, who both fell to silence and looked up at him from their seats.

"Well now, if it isn't our obsequious little zombie," Zsasz greeted, giving a little wave of two fingers from his bound hand. Because of his compulsion for murder, it had been decided that he was consistently a danger, but couldn't be locked in solitary forever, so his hands were always tightly cuffed in his front, making acquiring weapons and killing far more of a challenge. Not impossible, mind you. Wesker felt cold sweat already making trails down his head as his heart pounded, having never really been forced to confront a rogue who wasn't involved in some type of organized crime. Those men almost always followed a certain code or set of principles based on the standards of powerful men. Coming face to face with such an unbound and murderous rogue was frightening when not shielded by the powerful influence of one of the most powerful gangsters in Gotham.

"Oh my my my! The poor vessel is quivering!" Pyg noted worriedly, jumping up to his feet. While he may not have been as tall as Wesker, he made up for it on general size, that alone being intimidating to the lackey. The serial killer got up as well, although with far less vigor. "I adore your glasses," Zsasz mentioned, gesturing a thin pale finger to Arnold's eyewear. "May I have them before we begin?" He unconsciously itched at his chest, but unfortunately he wasn't allowed to remove his shirt in fear that it would alarm other inmates and provoke further dangerous behavior what with his scars.

Arnold swallowed, nodding silently as he shakily removed his glasses and handed them over with a quivering breath. Zsasz took them gratefully the best that he could with chained hands, placing the pair safely into his pocket before bringing his attention, once again, back to Wesker. "Now that all that is settled: give it your best shot. Sinners aren't hard to fool, but do try and make it convincing, yes?"

Wesker nodded dutifully, hands shaking as he raised both of them up, looking between the two criminals. Doubt overwhelmed his mind, unsure if he was really ready to do this sort of work. His breathing shallow, he closed his eyes and shot a hand forward to grab at Pyg's mask.

Pyg audibly squealed and jolted back before Wesker could actually grab the mask, holding the right side of his face in utter pain. "You idiot, you poked him in the eye! Watch where yer grabbin' nex time!" he could hear Scarface call from afar. "Oops! Sorry!" Wesker whispered whilst Zsasz pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. Joker could be heard howling with laughter, something that clearly caught the attention of the one and only guard left in the room. He needed to act now.

With little regard for his own safety at this point, he boldly grabbed Lazlo's makeshift mask and yanked it off, revealing what lie underneath. Arnold will admit he'd never actually seen Valentin without his mask on, and so when he finally got to gaze at the angered visage that had been hidden away for so long, he couldn't quite help but drop the fabric in shock. "O-oh! Oh de—" He hardly had time to finish as he was quickly tacked to the ground by the grunting Pyg himself, going at him with the same savageness as a rabid inmate that had lived his life in solitary confinement. Arnold could only shriek in terror, expecting some rather tough blows to his delicate frame. Fortunately, it was Zsasz who came to the rescue then, looping a cuffed arm around Lazlo's throat and forcing the surgeon to bend backwards as his airway was quickly cut off. "I think this little Piggy needs some sleep!" Viktor giggled, eyes wide with that murderous spark while his mind ignored Lazlo clawing at his arm.

"Hey!" the guard snapped, running over and raising his weapon at Viktor's madly grinning face. "Zsasz! Let him go! Now!"

Zsasz eyes the officer with sickening intent, but still complied and let Lazlo go. Valentin gasped for breath, rubbing at his neck as he scrambled for his mask. He muttered unintelligible gibberish, cursing unknowns and glaring at the two that had attacked him. Wesker had barely been touched save for being knocked to the ground and a few fairly soft blows, and yet he was curled up on the ground, groaning in pain.

"The three of you. Get up," the officer commanded. Wesker nodded rapidly, shakily rising to his feet as Zsasz couldn't keep his eyes off of the guard. The officer in question failed to notice how he began to rub at the missing fifth talley on his neck. Lazlo needed a few minuted to retie the fabric, but once done, he was soon on his feet. While the three were calm, several of the less notorious patients were noticeably becoming agitated or distressed; the last thing they needed was chaos. The officer grabbed the radio at his hip, keeping the gun trained on Viktor as he spoke into the device. "Keith? I need you to hurry back from Strange's office. I'm taking Zsasz, Valentin, and Wesker into Solitary and I need someone to look after the patients until rec time is over. Processing these three might take a while."

A moment of pause ensued before Kieth, the other officer, quickly replied. "Sure thing, Gonzales. I'll be right there. Just delivered Crane to Strange." Gonzales sighed in relief, still maintaining fierce eye contact with the man who wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat at a moment's notice. The other inmates were becoming more stressed as the time passed, no thanks in part to a giggling Joker who craved more entertainment, but the wait was short. The other guard soon turned up, quickly going about the procedure of calming some of the more sensitive patients and even calling in others to help get things sorted out.

"Alright, move," the guard commanded, lowering his gun as he gestured for the three to go through the usual door. Since the other inmates needed more attention, he would be doing this alone. It shouldn't be too hard, since he had the gun.

Wesker muttered worriedly to himself, twiddling his fingers and leading the way out. Zsasz, of course, stayed in the back of the line, just in front of Gonzales so he was able to leer back at him if need be. The officer obviously tried to think nothing of the stares from a man who had been so greatly perverted from humanity that he bore marks off all of victims.

The three were guided out to the hallway, moving the usual course and being sure to stay on the right side of the hallway as always. Wesker kept his eyes on the signs that marked each passing doorway, eyesight blurred by Zsasz having taken his glasses earlier. He just hoped they hadn't been cracked or he wouldn't be able to properly escape. However, it was about four hundred feet throughout the facility that his eyes recognized the door they were looking for, and as an indication of that, he stopped dead in his tracks. The hallway was currently empty, unfortunately for the officer.

Gonzales realized the three were no longer moving and took his gun off of its safety once again. "Wesker! Keep going," he commanded, but Arnold wouldn't budge, instead burying his face into his hands to save himself from the terror of what was about to ensue. Gonzales let out a huff, passing by Zsasz in order to confront Arnold himself. "Wesker, what has gotten into—?"

Viktor was quick to attack, launching himself to the side and slamming the officer into the wall. As he had done with Pyg, he wrapped an arm around his mouth, forcing him to stay silent. "Wesker! The gun!" he demanded, keeping his voice relatively low so they weren't heard by nearby rooms. Wesker squeaked and ran over, grabbing the gun and bringing it to his chest with a frightened breath. Without thinking, he took the gun off of safety and pointed it at the officer's head. "I-i-if you kn-know what's g-g-g-good for you, you-you'll stay quie-quiet."

Viktor's triumphant jeering could even be called evil at this point, taking in the officer's wide eyes and terrified breathing. Lazlo knew just what to do as he grabbed the keycard off of the officer and used it to scan himself into the room they had been searching for: the security office. The guard working at the desk let loose a startled gasp when Pyg's large frame blocked the doorway, eyes aflame with the same madness that caused him to tear people apart and sew them back together. Before the guard could even reach for her gun, he was quickly taken to the ground, her cries falling on deaf ears as she was quickly silenced by the hand over her mouth. Wesker hurried in behind him, closing the door and locking it once Zsasz was able to successfully drag the officer in.

"Please please please don't-!" the officer stationed at the cameras begged, tears already pouring from her her eyes as Pyg had finally let the pressure off of her mouth. Her cries went unanswered. "I am in need of an operating table!" Lazlo instead barked out, causing Wesker to grab a nearby desk and drag it to the middle of the room with as much effort as he could muster. Valentin reapplied his hand to the woman's mouth, ignoring her desperate pleas as he brought her to the table and placed her atop of it. Wesker rummaged through the drawers as per Zsasz's command, finding some zip ties. These were standard police zip ties that were used for restraining criminals or unruly patients, meaning they had a metal clip built in that made it near impossible to break through them unless you had the strength of Bane. He was certainly reluctant when he was suddenly asked to do the deed of tying the officers up.

"O-oh, why can't you do it?" Wesker whispered, not wanting to be a part of this heinous crime against humanity more than he already was. "Because if you don't, Scarface will be mighty disappointed, won't he?" Zsasz sneered, not keeping his eyes off of the male guard under him now that he now had a gun placed firmly under his chin. He always loved to see the tears of his victims when they realized they were going to die.

Wesker was forced to admit to himself that he couldn't betray his boss, and so he unfortunately nodded and went about tying the poor woman's limbs to each leg of the desk, allowing Pyg to finally move his weight off of her and listen to her sobs and ignore her struggles. He was forced to stuff her mouth with a rag, unfortunately. Next Wesker forced Gonzales' hand behind his back, tying them together and watching his face contort into a pained expression, only overwhelmed by a sudden realization when he saw Lazlo pull out the screwdriver and scalpel. They weren't going to be killed, but they instead were about to experience a fate far worse than death. It wasn't long before he, too, was begging to be spared with tears making their distinctive trails down his face. Blabbering about his family meant nothing to Zsasz, nor Pyg. Arnold, however? He just had to stick with covering his ears and holding back the nausea while he was forced to silence him with a hand.

Gonzales was discarded in the corner whilst Wesker was in charge of keeping watch over him. Zsasz found greater favor in looking over the terrified face of the officer on the desk. "Oink oink, little piggy," Viktor giggled, giving Lazlo a mad look. "Oh can I please do the honors?" He scratched at his own skin, hand moving up to his neck. "It's been such an awful long time, don't you know?"

Pyg grunted, rather displeased at the idea of having to share his work with others, but he supposed he didn't find much of a problem letting someone else take do the job he loved. Had he not been so medicated, it was needless to say Zsasz wouldn't even get the choice. So he handed him the screwdriver, which would be used in lieu of an ice pick, his preferred method of an old fashioned leukotomy without the use of chemicals. Thankfully it had a rather thin tip, making it crude, but still useful for on-the-go lobotomies. "Now, you're going to want to position the tool right at the tear ducts. That will allow you to get the perfect angle and hit in just the right spot!" As he instructed, he undid the woman's bun in order to get a good position on her head for cutting. He didn't like the idea of such a thick sewing needle, but at this point, beggars can't be choosers. "Oh my, we're definitely going to need a few rags- anyhow anyhow, my my, since we do not have a hammer, we can just use the butt of the gun on her to jam it in!" He noticed the rag escaping the woman's mouth and was forced to slam a hand over it to keep her from screaming out for help or terror. His hand were becoming slick with tears and saliva, but he was perfectly used to bodily fluids coating his arms and digits.

Zsasz looked giddy, itching that spot along his neck as he quickly retrieved the glasses he had taken from Wesker. "I normally don't put a mark unless I strike a kill the old fashioned way," he whispered, placing the glasses on the bridge of her nose so she was now the one wearing them. "But I believe this is close enough." He grinned at himself in the reflection of the glass. "I can't cleanse your sins without the glasses this time," came his mad susurrations, readying the screwdriver at her tear duct as Pyg struggled to keep her still and her head straight. "So I can see my reflection in your artificial gaze, begging me to baptize you anew it the liturgy of my knife and your blood."

Wesker wanted to cover his ears and ignore the horrid muffled screams and begs, but he was forced to keep Gonzales quiet after he had only intensified with his tears and his muffled screams. Wesker just tried to block it all out of his mind, ignoring his own threatening tears when they muffled screams were silenced with a swift hit to the screwdriver.

He victim under him stared in tear-filled horror, before breaking out into violent sobs. Wesker reached his limit at last, sprinting over the the trash bin and vomiting up his dinner.

* * *

A shadow enveloped the little light that filtered through the glass doorway. Nygma looked up slowly from his book, relieving his eyes of strain from reading in the dark and turning them to the figure in the door way. The low beam of the lights outside the cell practically shrouded the room in darkness once more, causing Riddler a slight annoying strain of his eyes. "Hello," he greeted dully, "can I help you?" He looked to the side, noting his cellmate was perfect fast asleep, and thankfully so. He didn't think he could take another minute of the layman. The figure didn't respond despite holding the general shape of an officer, what with the cap and rather large belt. Riddler furrowed his brow, sitting up and sliding off of the edge of his bed. "Can I help you? Hello?" he repeated once more, he general tone of annoyance well present in his voice. He scowled when he wasn't answered, approaching the glass wall swiftly and glaring at the man with a look of deep contempt. "Are you deaf? Or just—?"

Edward stopped, looking at the man rather oddly when he was able to get close enough to properly see those dull eyes, lacking in any sort of higher intelligence. It took Edward only a second to process what he was seeing before he ungracefully stumbled back, bile rising to his throat at the sight. He was nearly bent over, trying to save his stomach contents before it spilt into the toilet. He heard a cackle from outside the glass, and so he knew just who was behind the little scare.

"Zsasz," he growled, turning to the pale man with crossed arms. "Oh how very comical. Let me out." Viktor was still giggling after stepping out from behind the man that no longer held any sort of free thinking; or any thinking at all, really. Despite his jests, he complied, pulling out a keycard from his pocket and swiping Edward's cell to let him out. Nygma grimaced at the sight of the lobotomized man, making an effort to inch past him when he wouldn't move from the doorway. "Pyg had his little piggies fixed," Viktor explained, giving the guard a little nudge. Gonzales wavered slightly, but luckily didn't fall. "Because all we had to work with was a scalpel, a screwdriver, and a bit of work on the brain, they aren't… very advanced, but all we really need is for him to follow you along to make it look like he's guiding you somewhere. Just make sure he doesn't wander off."

Nygma was sickened at the thought of having to lug around this brainless sack of mush, but he bore through it, nodding and beckoning the guard to follow along to Zsasz cell, making sure to shut his cell along the way. Of course he noticed the new addition to the serial killer's neck, now slick with fresh blood, but Nygma simply ignored in fear he would lose his dinner. Viktor was placed back in his cell where Pyg was already staying, being Zsasz's cellmate and all. Lazlo grinned and waved, garnering a rather uneasy wave back from the Riddler. With most of the inmates fast asleep and the usual night guards having already made their usual hourly patrol of that night, Riddler made sure to make quick work of the time and had Gonzales follow him to the main office, which was not in use at this time seeing as most of the doctors and staff had gone home at this hour. Occasionally another guard would pass by, but as long as he remained close to the brainless sock that he was given, no one thought otherwise. After all, he was the Riddler; half the time he was in solitary, so was it really that surprising that he would be taken around by a guard all the time?

Riddler noticed the cameras peering down at him as he entered the empty office with a keycard, letting out a small breath as he had to remind himself that the person behind the cameras had less intelligence than a baby koala at the moment. "I haven't even done anything yet and yet I feel as though this is the most abhorrent thing I've ever been a part of," he whispered to himself, shutting the door behind him but not activating the lights. The last thing he needed were curious eyes peering through to see who was messing with the computers.

Wiggling the mouse, he had to narrow his eyes to prevent temporary blindness from the bright flash of he screen in contrast to the surrounding darkness. He noticed the computer required a login. Thankfully, there was a much easier way in the form of a fingerprint scan: a device that would instantly log in a user by pressing his or her finger to the attached scanner.

He gestured for Gonzales to come over, tapping his foot in impatience when as he waited for the officer the stumble over. When he looked back in mild irritation, he was given the rather insufferable sight of a braindead officer playing with the wires of another computer on the floor. He huffed and went over, pinching the officer by the coat in an effort to avoid touching him as much as possible and bringing him over to the computer. He had him press each individual finger to a scanner, watching the computer deny entry until it was the left thumb was found out to be the key. "Finally," Riddler whispered, spotting a clipboard nearby. He snatched it up and handed it to the guard, who slowly took it without thought. "Here, play with that. That should keep you busy." Riddler really only had three tasks for now, and so his fervent exploration of the database began.

First was the guards. He found it taxing that he would need a place to put them, but he needed a shift where they wouldn't be checked up on. He finally decided on keeping one in a guard tower and one in the security room to watch over the cameras, maybe pretend to write some papers despite the fact they probably couldn't process written words anymore. Since the scheduling system was automated by a computer instead of manually done by a person, hardly anyone would notice if he simply made it so they would switch shifts every twelve hours or so to avoid suspicion, despite the fact that they wouldn't really move from their spots at all and could possibly dehydrate and eventually die. The only real annoyance of that was Riddler having to take the extra few minutes to manually clock them in and out for the future so they wouldn't be found either absent or working overtime. It was boring, yes, but it needed to be done for the plan.

The second task came in the form of Poison Ivy and her special brand of treatment. He went to the treatment plans, looking over the vast array of names in silent fascination. He was tempted to stray from the path and just take a gander around; he'd always been curious about what kind of results Harvey has had in his therapy, after all, but he needed to keep on track.

Patients in the asylum were put into two groups essentially when it came to treatment: those who received medication as well as therapy, and those who received no such medication and only dealt with therapy. Edward considered himself lucky to be in the latter category, knowing that any chemical interference with his mind could greatly hinder his abilities. The placement also reaffirmed his belief that he wasn't meant to be inside the asylum, but that was an argument for another day. Easily recalling Pamela's inmate number thanks to an eidetic memory, he was able to find her in the database with relative ease and look over all of her treatment plans. At the moment, she was given routine trips to the gardens for her therapy. While it may seem dangerous, her medication (a saltwater mixture that greatly hindered her abilities) prevented her from properly influencing plants or producing those fumes she was always so proud to use on men and occasionally women. Thankfully, this would all change.

"Ivy, I expect full gratitude when you are out of this rathole," Riddler smirked, going over to her dosage amount and severely lowering the concentration to barely a fifth of what it usually contained. Sure the nurses might find it a bit odd, but who were they to question the doctor's orders?

Once that was set in stone, it was time for the final challenge. Bringing Jervis' inmate number to mind, he was quickly able to locate Tetch's treatment plan. As expected, Tetch was on a seriously heavy amount of medication in order to balance out an extreme case of schizophrenia. He was also given some rather unfortunate amounts of electroshock therapy, but also really seemed to enjoy a form of art therapy. Unsurprising, of course; Jervis always did need a way to express himself. As expected, he was also given regular sessions with his psychiatrist, Dr. Picard, and he and Edward (and now Jonathan) shared the same group therapy time with Dr. Leland. While all of this was interesting to look at, the main target here was the medication. Because Jervis was on the list of inmates to receive medicine, the computer essentially recalled his name each time the patients needed their doses, and so the nurses were always reminded to give him what he needed. If his name was taken off, like Edward's, his name would never come up come time for the distribution of medicine, and so he would stop receiving the drugs needed to stay within the realms of sanity.

Riddler took a deep breath, processing all the information with steady eyes. "Well… sorry, Jervis." With that, he removed Tetch's name from the list completely before logging off.


	4. Backstage

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Crane criticized smoothly, hooking his glasses back into the neck of his patient uniform. Savannah kicked her legs idly in her seat, unconsciously chewing on a lock of her hair in anticipation. "It's Labor Day," she replied, knocking his question out of the way swiftly.

"You wouldn't rather spend this holiday with friends or with that family of yours?" Jonathan asked, knitting his fingers together in an attempt to avoid the previous subject. To this, Savannah pulled her hair out of her mouth, a small shake of her head indicating her true priorities. "Nah," she spoke, "after Dr. Leland informed me that you had a lil' problem yesterday, I woulda come anyways."

"Did she now?" Jonathan grimaced, his gaze turning to a leer directed at one of the mounted security cameras. "And just what else does she inform you of?" He wasn't exactly angry, just more or less irritated that Leland's attempts at reforming this former doctor had leaked into giving out constant updates as though he were the child instead. So much for patient-doctor confidentiality, although he supposed that went out the window when he put away for torture and murder. He knew she was working hard to get him to flex that underused and nearly nonexistent social side of him to aid his mental health, but it was no less annoying to a shut-in like Jonathan.

"Just what she's allowed," Savannah answered him, choosing her words carefully. "She can't tell me about therapy or anythin' like that, but since Ah'm, like, your only existin' family member, she tells me about medical stuff an' whatnot." When she caught his glaring at the camera, she reached and hand over to lightly thump the table and get his attention. Crane gave her an immediate sharp, warning glare, one that caused her to flinch in immediate reaction. He had to commend her on a swift recovery, however, as she soon proclaimed, "Yer stallin'! C'mon, can't you do it one more time? You do it all the time for the cameras!"

Crane's gaze softened to it's usual grouchy stare of contempt as he once again turned his focus to her. "Another time, perhaps, but not today, child."

"Oh you say that every time," Savannah groaned, a childish petulance seeping into her voice. "You do it for crowds of people and for Batman. Why can't you do it for me?"

Jonathan pointed upwards to the cameras recording them. "There are cameras."

"So? They don't record sound!" the younger sibling replied, her determination certainly admirable as well as aggravating to the doctor.

"Just look it up on…" Jonathan snapped his fingers repeatedly, trying to think of what the younger generation used these days. "YouTube. Just look it up on YouTube if you're so curious." Platforms like that were still new to his generation when he was teaching.

Savannah grimaced at the very thought, tapping her toes against the floor in visible impatience. Their time was coming to an end soon enough, and she knew her brother well enough to know he was running the clock down. No doubt he had plenty of practice with his own doctors. "Can't," she finally replied. "Most of yer stuff is age-restricted. I have to be eighteen to view it."

Crane granted her an incredulous look. "Can't you make an account and simply say you're eighteen?" he asked her.

"What if I get caught?"

"Caught? By _whom_? The police?"

"I dunno! Maybe?"

Crane's brow shot up so high in awed disbelief that it was a surprise they didn't fly off of his face. "And you're _sure_ we're related?"

"We're half siblings!" his sister snapped, clearly exasperated but with no actual angry tone in her voice. "Just do the thing! Do it and I'll promise I'm never ask you about it again."

Jonathan had to once again remind himself that his half-sister was still twelve. Maturity wasn't exactly expected, but it seemed to him that Savannah had gotten far too comfortable with Crane as her sibling. She acted as if he were a brother she'd known for years, and while it gave him mild discomfort, he had to teach himself to stop pushing it away. It was at times like these that he needed to remind himself that he _wanted_ this, even if it was a fact that was hard to swallow. With that, he slowly rolled up his sleeves. "I'm not exactly in my element," he warned, already preparing the monologue within his head as his tone hinted at the prize she so dearly wanted.

Savannah buried her growing grin in her sleeves, legs kicking excitedly. "That's fine! Just… give it a go!"

Jonathan stared blankly at her, internally building himself up. His eyes then narrowed as a mad grin split his lips, hands rubbing together greedily. "Hroo, hraa! Yeeees, enjoy your precious daylight Gotham, for when night falls, you will experience _true_ terror, and you will all know that _I_ , the _SCARECROW,_ am the _MASTER_ OF FEAR!" This line was punctuated by a bout of high-pitched maniacal laughter so iconic to the Scarecrow as Jonathan raised bent arms up and clawed fingers up to the sky in a perfect display of overdramatic villainy.

Savannah had to cover her mouth with both hands, a squeak leaking out as her chest shook and pained from contained laughter. Jonathan's expression relaxed to the usual unrevealing gaze, a far cry from what had been put on show moments ago. "Of course, one will never experience a true chewing of the scenery until in the heat of the moment when you're saying—" he paused to glare furiously up at the ceiling, shaking his fist as an old man would to a boy on his lawn and yelling "— I'LL GET YOU BATMAN!"

That broke Savannah, who slammed her head into her arms on the table to let out muffled laughter into her sleeves. Jonathan watched with a stolid countenance once more, taking note of her shaking with each new breath wasted on laughter. "You laugh now, but I'll have you know it's terrifying when in the costume," he spoke calmly, watching her shake harder, knowing tears were involved this time.

"Ah bet!" she grinned, wiping the leaking from her eyes as she tried to regain her composure and stop the giggles that interrupted her interrupted each attempt. It wasn't a surprise when the guards suddenly burst in, alarmed by the noise heard outside of the room. Savannah tried to assure them that she was fine as they checked her for injuries, all the while Jonathan took the time to contemplate. All his fondest ideas sprouted from simple pondering, and yet as of late he seemed to find himself in the worst of moods when his thoughts strayed.

 _What are you? A clown?_

If it was one thing Crane loathed, it was utter humiliation. Even now Crane felt a rising sense of anger at the girl who laughed at his admittedly silly display, garnering unwanted flashes back to tormenting jeers and laughter that had once brought him to tears every day as a boy.

 _Pathetic._

It was rambunctious laughter at his expense, and yet somehow this felt off from the torments of his youth. Did he have to degrade his own existence in order to get even a shred of camaraderie from a girl who would tremble before him had there not been the safety of the guards? He let these thoughts stew inside of him, letting his displeasure be known by the twisted glower presented on his face.

Savannah's laughter died at the sight of his expression, leaving a small "thank you" to the guards as they reminded her she had about five minutes remaining before leaving to keep an ear out once more.

Silence enveloped the room as the girl's eyes searched him wordlessly for an indication as to what her wrongdoing may have been. Jonathan was once more back into that ugly frown she knew she was meant to see. She wouldn't know he was upset unless he wanted her to. That's just how her brother was.

"Having fun?" Jonathan sneered, his insecurities putting him on the offensive. Savannah shrank back instinctually, mouth twitching in an attempt to retain a calm smile. "Of… f'course," she replied as honestly as she could, though she wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to hear from her. "Ah like getting to know my big brother." She offered an encouraging smile, as if hoping it would somehow lift his spirits.

"Oh? And what have you learned today?" Crane asked expectantly, that frown lessening back to its usual blank visage. Savannah looked at him oddly, as if now he was the one in need of questioning now. Her brow furrowed, and yet she retained the smile of a girl simply trying her best.

"Does it matter?" she answered, striking something within her brother. "I thought bonding wasn't supposed to be stressful."

Jonathan stayed silent during that moment, his thoughts once again lost in a blank canvas

 _So then why are you so uncomfortable, Johnny?_

"Johnny, I like spending time getting to know you," Savannah emphasized, his silence only bringing her discomfort. Jonathan canted his head, hands tightening their grip on his arms. Still, she persisted on. "Y'know, like our mama always wanted to."

Crane's silence only seemed all the more deafening right then. And yet, he let his expression lift as he offered up a small smile before signaling to the security camera that he was ready to leave.

"I'll see you next week, Savannah," he hummed, before the guards came in to assist in his departure.

* * *

"Forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine…"

Lonnie had been watching silently for some time, finally breaking the silence when Garfield reached the fiftieth mark. "You have to be the only man in this asylum who comes out in exercise period to actually exercise," he stated, watching Garfield rest himself at the down position to take a few deep breaths in.

"What can I say? I gotta build up my strength for when I get my wings back," Garfield chuckled, before looking over his own shoulder to get a glimpse at the girl sitting criss-cross on his spine. "Whaddaya say, Mary? Fifty more?" Baby Doll pursed her lips, leaning on his back some in contemplation. "Hmmmm…. A hundred! A hundred and I'll give you a cookie!" she promised.

Lynns scoffed. "Yeah, I'm not falling for that one again," he muttered, despite already in motion of doing more push-ups. "Of course, I'm still gonna do it, but if you're lying to me, Dr. Leland's gonna hear all about it in group therapy." He quickly got going again, already getting into the sixties as Mary was bursting with giggles like she was a little girl on the world's safest kiddy ride. "Faster! Faster!" she giggled, rapidly giving his back soft pats that were supposed to be childish hits. Firefly was certainly trying his best, saying to her, "Yeah yeah, I'm getting on it. Remember you're getting off the moment we see— HARVEY!"

Lynns leaped to his feet, immediately throwing the little blonde woman off of his back and sending her crashing onto the ground below, leaving Lonnie to rush over and help her to her feet. Garfield couldn't care more, approaching Dent with the excitement of Baby Doll a few minutes prior. Dressed in the typical Arkham uniform, Harvey had it modified to where one half was dirty and damaged to a state where it was nearly unfixable; the typical two-toned fashion he was always so keen on sporting. Even Jervis would have a hard time stitching that raggedy thing up. Doctors had tried to replace it multiple times, but like his coin, they had to eventually give in and let him have it. Said coin was currently flipping through the air, periodically landing in Harvey's hand before trailing through each crevice of his fingers with skilled turns and once again being flipped through the air with a flick of his thumb. Dent didn't look too pleased, but that was most likely because it wasn't Harvey currently in control. In spite of whatever his current mood was, he pulled out a book. "I got your things."

As Lonnie was lifting up Dahl and getting ready to place her back on her feet, he heard Two-Face's words and immediately dropped her. "Bullshit. You did?"

Instead of that gruff, gravelly voice they had gotten prior, Harvey seemed to become the more prominent half as he handed Lynns a cover of Stephen King's _It_ , a rather hefty book that was inconspicuous enough to hide what was needed. "Well, it's not exactly difficult when both watchtower guards are lobotomized," he sighed, watching Firefly gleefully open up the book to reveal a lighter and an adjustable wrench hidden inside two deep holes carved into the pages. "Oh Harvey I'd kiss you if weren't as half as pretty as I am," Lynns laughed, slamming the book shut just in time to see Harvey cringe in response.

Dent's attention was now on Anarky, who stood by with crossed arms as he found it hard to believe he was going to experience his first mass breakout. "Nervous?" the more experienced rogue asked, the the unmarred side of his face portraying a light smile.

"Nervous? Tentative more than anything," Lonnie would only admit. Signs of anxiety weren't favored among rogues, and Anarky had to be one of the newest to the game, leaving him more of the spotlight to make an impression on the others.

"Well its not hard," Harvey told him. "You've started a riot before, haven't you?"

"Have I started riots?" Machin asked incredulously, letting a loud "Ha!" escape him. "Please. Has our unjust police systems mass indicted civil citizens with unfairly prejudice-based biases?" Harvey said nothing, merely raising a brow. At the silence, Anarky cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes. The answer is, uh, yes. I have."

"Great!" Lynns continued for Dent, giving the much younger rogue a hard pat on the back, watching him stumble forward a step or two. "This should be easy for you then. Breakouts are simple, Lon. You just do what you do best and we'll be out of here in no time." He grimaced and took a look around. "No time being a couple days, of course. Ivy hasn't gotten out yet and I can only wonder what's taking her so long." Letting out a breathy laugh, he once again brought his attention back to the political activist, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Look, kid, no pressure, but if we put in all this work and you fuck it up— once again, no pressure— I'm probably going to set your cell on fire with you in it. We good?"

Lonnie blinked, speechless for a moment before letting out a hesitant laugh, forcefully prying off the uncomfortably tight hand that had latched its grip onto his shoulder. "Yeah yeah, we're good," he nodded, awkwardly gesturing back to a small crowd of inmates gathered around Blackfire for one of his cult teachings. "I'll get right on it."

The two more experienced rogues watched him jog off and over to Blackfire, ending with Harvey giving Lynns a look. "You'd seriously kill him? We've all messed up a breakout before," he asked, once again flipping that coin in between his knuckles.

Garfield gazed over at him and back at Machin, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah. He's a good kid. I'd probably just put a cigarette out in his eye or something." He paused, bringing his gaze back to the other burn victim once more. "You'd hold him down for me, wouldn't you?"

Two-Face gave him an unreadable look as the coin in his hand found its way to his thumb within a second. Lynns watched the coin be launched into the air, that scarred half showings its marred face for mere milliseconds before findings its way back to his palm. The coin was planted on the back of his hand, only to reveal the clean side had won over Dent's constantly warring mind. Coin once more back in his palm, Two-Face shook his head. "Sorry Gar. Looks like I can't."

Lynns stayed silent, watching the coin expertly flip through Harvey's knuckles. "So are you finally gonna let me choose what to watch on TV in the rec room or are you just going to flip a coin at each channel until the coin tells to what to watch?"

Harvey paused, the coin stopping between his forefinger and middle finger. "Eh, hold on," he said, placing the coin on his thumb once more whilst Garfield crossed his fingers in silent hope.

* * *

Quinn ran thin fingers through her blonde locks, the hair ties discarded to the side for when she would fashion her hair up into those iconic twin ponytails. Her reflection bit her lip in pointed determination, noticing a knot up near her roots. Long nails struggled to comb it out, trying to keep the user distracted from the green-tinted figure feeling her own hair in the background. Harley paused, a twinge of anger sparking up in her chest at the sight. It had been several days since the dosages for Ivy's medication had been greatly reduced, and with it, Harley's insecurities began to bloom once more.

Her fingers became stuck in that knot, and in a spurt of wound up frustration, she tried to yank it out.

The harlequin's efforts were halted by smooth green hands gently grasping onto her wrists, smiling at her from the reflection of the mirror. A bit of red dusted the clown's cheeks as she grimaced at her own childish actions, letting Ivy gently untangle the knot in her hair. No longer within the public eye, however, she knew she was allowed to be embarrassed.

"Nervous?" Ivy spoke gently, her voice meeting Harley's ears as smoothly as fresh water. Quinn blinked, the sheepish smile saying everything that Ivy needed to know. "I mean, I guess," Harley confessed, avoiding the larger woman's gaze, expecting herself to be reprimanded for acting so childish and letting her worries get to her. It was around this time that Ivy had finished tugging at her tangles, already reaching for one of the hair ties. Her eyes urged for Harley to continue, even if she couldn't see them.

"It's jus'… y'know…" Harley muttered, unsure of how to put her problems into audible words. However, she mustered up a courage within her to show a hopeful, although weak smile. "It's nothin', Red, honest!" She winced in slight pain as Ivy tugged her hair up into those twin ponytails one at a time, making sure not a hair escaped from each tie as she finished Harley's signature hairstyle. As gentle as she tried to be and with plenty of practice under her belt, Harley could still be a little tender-headed.

Reaching up to run her fingers through the captured locks, Harley finally let her eyes lift up to Ivy, a grin naturally coming up to her face. Harleen had seen countless pictures of Poison Ivy back when she had simply been known as Pamela (a luxury she never received with the Joker), so she knew she already had a natural beauty about her. However, call it her odd taste in lovers, but she found Ivy to be absolutely stunning as she was now; a natural goddess among humans she had been raised with. Ivy smiled at Harley through their reflection, leaving over to plant her chin on the smaller woman's shoulder with one arm wrapped snuggly around her petite lover's waist and the other draped over her other shoulder in a comforting hug. Harley marveled at the woman she bunked with; sleeves were rolled up to show off that pear-green skin; smooth and practically flawless with thin, vein-like vines winding their way along her arms paired with crinkly and full locks of thick crimson hair cascading over Harley's shoulders as if cut from the finest silk. Quinn looked up into those green eyes that comforted her in the mirror and promptly turned around to get a direct look at them herself.

"Ah geeze, Red, lookit you!" she giggled, playing with her lover's hair. "You look so good! Just like yourself again." Poison Ivy couldn't help the smile that graced her face, small seeds in her hair that had laid dormant during her time in Arkham finally sprouting and flourishing into large pink flowers that decorated mane. It was a sign she was genuinely contented. Harley played with one of the petals, a bright smile broadening across her face. "Oh I'm gonna miss lookin' at these while your gone!"

Pamela noticed Harley's expression drop at the end of that sentence, filling her with a bout of worry. Her hands took up Quinn's, urging her to speak her mind. The small gesture of comfort was what brought the former doctor to look up with eyes gleaned with the foreshadowing of tears. "You're gonna come back for me, right?" she asked, the weakness of her voice begging for an earnest answer.

Oh, so _that_ was what was wrong. Ivy's thoughts soured when thinking back to Joker, the flowers in her hair retracting to make way for thorny vines and weaved in and out of her hair. Harley was careful not to let her hand be pricked by the sudden onset of hostile vines. Ivy's hand curled around Harley's, her features displaying the look of a serious, but devoted partner. "Harley, I'm not like him," she promised with a firm voice. "I'm not leaving this island without you." Not that she really could without being shot down on the spot, but the sentiment was there. "If I could, I'd only come back for you." She finished with a kiss to Harleen's head, flowers blooming among her thick locks once more.

Harley found herself with watery eyes as Ivy pulled her close, bringing her over to the bed they shared despite there being two available. Ivy sat down so Harley was free to climb up onto her lap facing her. "I know, I know," Harley said, a more uplifted smile gracing her face as she giggled her worries away. "Yous know I just get worried n' all that…" She wiped at her eyes that were threatening her with tears. "Ahh lookit me. You got me all watery in the eyes." Leaning in, she embraced her paramour, squeezing her tight. "Just promise you won't be gone too long, 'kay Red?"

Before Ivy could respond, Harley leaned back, pointing at her in an almost paternal fashion as she scrunched up her face in mock seriousness. "An' don't you go messin' around with nonna those big ol' Blackjack trees Arkham has, ya hear?" She leaned in until their foreheads were touching, giving her that warning look. "If we bust this joint and I see you all smothered up in pollen, _someone's_ gettin' the ax!"

Ivy was wide-eyed in her reaction, before falling into a bout of giggles, burying her face into the happy harlequin's shoulder. "Trust me," she laughed, meeting Harley's eyes once more. "I wouldn't leave you for the biggest redwood there is."

To this, Harley donned a contemplative look. "I dunno, Red. I'd probably leave me for a redwood. Those things are so big I could probably carve a house inta one and live inside of it." Ivy gave her lover a roll of her eyes, pausing her chortles when she heard the familiar sounds of footsteps. Immediately those flowers disappeared and her sleeves were rolled back down to her wrists, but she still held onto her Harley tightly as the guard appeared before their cell.

"Ladies. Time for your therapy session," the officer announced, showing the keycard that would open the door. Harley grinned, grabbed Ivy by either side of her face, and with a loud "MWAH" she gave her a large smooch on the lips. Whether out of politeness for the couple or disgust, guard averted her eyes with the rim of her cap. "Mmm, gotta love that new salad taste," Harley winked, hopping off her lap and cartwheeling over to the wall, where she put her hands. Ivy just shook her head and did the same, just with less flair, and thus the guard let the sliding glass door open and stepped through. The two were quickly patted down by separate officers, and with that Harley was taken away by a male guard while Ivy was taken away by the female officer.

As Harleen moved along with the officer past the rest of the cells, she made sure to go about her daily tasks of greeting each one of her friends ("Hey Zsasz! Hiya Laz! Lookin' great Lynns! Whatchya doin' Doctor Crane? Glad to see you're back, Harv! Heya Jerv- oh yeah. Hiya Mary!") up until she made it to the therapeutic wing, where she would go about talking to her doctor.

Nearing the office, she was greeted by the bright smile of Dr. Leland. "Harleen! Looking upbeat today," she greeted, the three of them pausing in the hallway. Quinn blinked before busting out into a grin. "You betchya!" she giggled. "I hear somethin' special's brewing in Arkham today!"

Dr. Leland arched a brow, suspicion already taking hold, but the doctor decided to give her former patient the benefit of the doubt. "Oh? And what might that be?"

A grin spread across Harley's lips as she leaned in, as if to share some secret with the psychiatrist. "Well, you didn't hear it from me, but…" She paused, eyes shifting around the room and glaring pointedly at the guard with her. "But… I hear they're serving meatloaf for lunch in the cafeteria."

Joan's mouth opened slightly, her brow rising at her answer. Clutching her clipboard tightly to her chest, she looked away, frowning some. "Well, Harley, from what I've heard—" She leaned in even closer, her voice dropping a few decibels, "—there's going to be mashed potatoes, too."

Harley's eyes lit up in surprise. Everyone could already see the buildup of energy rapidly expanding until it detonated into a boisterous "WAAHOOOOO!" and she leaped back into the guard's arms. Leland just chuckled softly, watching her recover from her little explosion within several seconds. She gave a wave of her fingers as Harley swung her arms back and forth in a grand goodbye.

Joan just shook her head, walking back down the hallway a couple steps until her eyes met the rather grave stare of one of the professors.

Professor Strange gave her that obviously judgmental stare from behind thick lenses, a brow arched in silent interrogation. Joan simply waved the larger doctor off. "It's just Harley," she said simply. "You have to enjoy the small improvements in your patients, Doctor."

Strange said nothing, only giving a simple nod as he moved back over to Crane's cell.

Back with Harley, she was practically skipping to get to her doctor's office. "Ooh, can I knock?" she asked the guard, who just smiled and gave her approving nod. Quinn hopped up to the door, before pounding wildly to the tine of what he thought might be "Funky Town", but he couldn't quite be so sure. Within seconds her reply came when Dr. Picard opened the door for her, his expression more annoyed than amused in her opinion.

"Harley, good to see you in such good spirits," Picard noted. He kindly thanked the guard before letting her in, gesturing to her seat as he went to sit behind his desk. "So, let's get started. How's your time been with Pamela?"

This starter allowed Harley to launch into a fluid series of responses, sharing moments about how Ivy always takes all the blankets or funny moments spent together. It was all normal, typical slice of life stories that happened to take place in an asylum. It ended oddly enough, however.

"Do ya think Ivy— I mean— Pam's gonna hibernate?" Harley asked out of the blue, causing Picard to give her a rather questioning look. "I mean, like, is she gonna turn brown and lose all her hair and go to sleep for the entire winter or what's up?" She played with a pen that had been left out on the desk. Along with that, she was happy to see a pair of scissors was placed blade-down in the pencil holder. "I mean, we've been together for almost a year, but we haven't spent winter together. She ain't gonna pass out on me, is she?"

"Well, despite her… abnormalities, she is still human," the doctor explained. "I would think there would instead be a slight downward shift in mood with most of the plants being asleep. However, we have not had a recorded case of Miss Isely sleeping for an entire winter." He took a moment to consider where he could divert the conversation. "Why? How do you think it would affect you should that be the case?"

Harley tried her best to huff it up, puffing her cheeks out as she slumped in her chair. "It would be boring!" she exclaimed, kicking her legs under the chair to express such underlying boredom. "Why would I want a roomie who sleeps all day? It's already bad enough now that Jerv is gone."

At the mention of his other patient, Picard took the opportunity to explore that particular path of exploration. "You're upset by Jervis' stay in Solitary?" he questioned. Harley threw her hands up, an indicator he wasn't exactly throwing her all the hard-hitting million dollar questions.

"Upset?" she grumbled. "Of course! You'd be upset, too, if you got stuck inside a tiny box for a weak." She stuffed her face in the cushion of the chair, her next words muffled. When Picard asked her to repeat that, she popped her head up like a gopher, giving him a stern glare. "Besides! It's not like he's dangerous or anything."

Picard refrained from sighing at this statement, realizing he was going to ho back over a very key important topic that Harley always seemed to miss. "Harleen," he spoke gently. While Harley played with the pen once more, she made a small "mmhmm?" sound, indicating she was listening to him speak. It was evident she was trying to get the pen to work through repeatedly pressing the button, but it seemed like the point was stuck somewhere inside of the cap and thus was unable to write. The doctor watched her play with the small instrument, finding it harmless enough to continue with his chiding. "People like Crane and Tetch and Isely may be your friends, but you must remember that they are no less a menace to the public as well as themselves. They are here for everyone safety, them included."

Harley scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Whateva ya say, bozo. Jervie is fine." She bit her lip as she began to take apart the pen, much to Picard's dismay. "Yeah he gets crazy sometimes, but ya just gotta know what to say to him!" She glanced over at him from the corner of her eye, checking to see if she'd maintained his interest. "Like, he loves all those quotes from that book a' his," she continued. She sat up straight, looking at him with seeming excitability. "Like, ''tis love that makes the world go round!' It a quote from the Hatter in the book, I think. It really calms him down."

Picard seemed to be taking her words with a grain of salt. "Harley, that would only be perpetuating his delusions," he explained to her gently, speaking as if he were explaining psychology to a five year old.

Harley waved a hand at him in retaliation, saying, "You don't think I don't know that?" She huffed at his condescending tone, telling herself she just needed to deal with it for a little while longer. "Well, yeah, but you can't exactly help someone who's a mess. I was a psychiatrist, remember? I worked this job before you ever even set foot in here!" She stuck out her tongue at Picard, who remained unamused by her antics. The pen was now only pieces of a tool that once was. Harley, of course, began to reassemble it, looking up at her doctor with a more serious gaze. "Some people take serious time to change, and as a doctor, I had to accept that. Meds don't fix everything, y'know. You can't just fix them right out the gate. Play along so you can understand them and come to help them. Sometimes you need to take a few steps back to move forward, you know?" She looked down at her pen, watching the final piece snap into place. "It's like what Pam tells me all the time: sometimes you need to prune back in order to make your gardens flourish."

She grabbed a scrap piece of paper on the table and pressed the button of the pen, causing the now fixed instrument to push out its tip and scribble out a few black swirls of ink. Smiling cheerfully, she placed the pen back on the desk in the pencil holder, bringing her gaze back up to her psychiatrist.

Picard was silent, letting her finish with her antics before taking his own writing utensil and scribbling something quickly within a separate notebook. "I believe it's time we move back to you," he began with a clearing of his throat. "Now, I would like to go through some grounding exercises before we begin on the discussion of your parents."

* * *

Jervis Tetch wasn't a very religious man, but the thought of God crossed his mind once or twice. When his mind wasn't enraptured by the reverie and fantasy of Alice and her adventures, he found himself occasionally thinking back to days in his youth, spending time in the church pews with his mother and sister and listening to a passionate preacher speak the good word. As much as a hassle as it was as a boy, it at least taught him such good manners. Unfortunately, being a good-mannered gentlemen don't exactly appeal to the judicial eyes of St. Peter when you have as lengthy a record as the Mad Hatter did. It didn't matter how you treated the young lady; kidnapping is still kidnapping, and mind control was still seen as a crime against humanity itself. He doubted there was such thing as an insanity plea in the afterlife, although he wasn't too keen on the idea of an eternal asylum, either.

Jervis dreaded Hell, but not fire and brimstone kind. Whenever he thought of Hell, he was tormented by fear of the concrete slab walls and that the screams of other patients that could still be heard even through the loudness of his own thoughts. Ask any patient in Arkham or what they thought of Hell, and they'd tell you that Hell is a very, very small place.

Tetch had found himself spending much of his time pacing around a fairly limited cell, even smaller than the one he'd shared with his cellmate before he was unfairly taken away by a couple of _brutes_. It was the only thing he could do, really, as the guards weren't much for conversation when they're practically being paid to ignore you in Solitary. That and sleep, but you can only sleep so much until you're simply left staring at the ceiling listening to your own thoughts, and that was what Jervis attempted to avoid. Sometimes he would pass the hours away by picking at chipping paint, and in others he would find solace in letting his eyes find patterns in the cracks on the walls, imagining each funny shape to be another oddly formed character. This was how he spent his hours; at least, he _thought_ they were hours.

In Solitary it was pointless to try and keep track of the time, but when one runs out of topics to ponder about, one has to waste Time trying to figure him out. He received food and such, but it was hard to tell just when the next day had truly arrived until he had gotten his medication, what with the lack of natural light and the like. Doctors had him on a strict schedule, after all; a couple of pills every morning to continue to suppress those uglier thoughts of his. And yet, Jervis found himself reducing what he'd believed had been days into mere hours, unsure after a certain time if he had just been forgotten or if any days had truly passed at all. Somewhere in the progressively hazy mind of his, he figured the former when he soon found himself suffering from body-quaking tremors and cold sweats. The only comfort he could really bring himself was tucking his body in the corner of the room whilst on his bed, vainly hoping with each stress-induced sleep that he would eventually be rid of the migraines and the horrible shivering. At times like these, he was forced to once again bring himself to his thoughts in order to stave off the pains. So, it wasn't really of any surprise when he found himself talking with them once again.

Those voices. Those bloody voices in his head that landed him in this facility in the first place. Cats and frog men and Hares (not _the_ Hare, mind you) enjoyed their talking and talking about many things, from Hares to Dormice to fallen pawns and kings, _and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings_.

"They don't," he had stated rather matter-of-factly. "Had they said wings, I don't believe a certain pig would have left the poor Hatta all alone."

Tetch had found himself being brought to tears many times. The shaking, the fevers, the aching of his head; all that paired with the constant talking talking talking of the voices in his head was just too much for him to bear at certain moments. He'd find himself curled up in the corner of his bed, face buried into his stiff pillow as he begged for them to simply give him a moment of peace. They were usually so easy to simply brush away with the distraction of the Hare or the Dormouse to talk to him and give him peace. However, in such still silence, those voices playing directly into his head were simply deafening. At times, he simply failed to understand his own surroundings. He couldn't tell where Time was at, morning and night blurred into one it seemed— sometimes he would see the sun, but oh it was a trick on the poor hatter— and there were times he found himself talking to those guards, those guards that were trained to ignore him. Of course, the Hatter, being the smart man he was, easily discovered it was another trick of the mind.

"I wonder if I've been changed at night," the Hatter pondered. Cats grinned and snickered and mice chittered in his ears. "Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning?" He reached for his hat to properly swat at a particularly rude gnat, but his headwear was nowhere to be found, nohow. In its stead, he was forced to use a pillow. "I almost think I can feel a little different! But if I'm not the the same then the next question is—"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" he snapped in the middle of streams of tears at the noisy noisy daisies that peaked out of the cracks. "O-Or PETALS OR WHAT HAVE YOU!" He buried his face in the pillow once more to continue his tears.

"'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

He'd completely lost Time at this point! He smacked at his head repeatedly, cursing his own unforgiving mind at how he'd lost him. Oh the Queen would have his head for this. Just the very thought made him bite through tea cups instead of buttered bread— silly him. Didn't she know he hadn't a pound to his name? The more her stares leered the more he continued to bite into that tea cup, spilling a red paint from the cup that cards would inevitably use to paint those ugly white roses. Wouldn't that please the court? He didn't _want_ to think about time but he was _forced_ to think about time because what else was he supposed to think about? The weight of just being unable to tell the difference between night and day had him emotionally upset because he just wouldn't stop thinking _thinking THINKING_ about it!

"You're mad, Tetch," Jonathan sneered, pushing up those thinly framed glasses further up his nose. Hatter swung his legs over the bed, kicking them rhythmically in tune to the seconds in his head. Who said he couldn't find Time? He'd found four thousand three hundred fifty-six seconds of him! "How so?" he hummed, tittering in that way he knew Jonathan liked. Jon, of course, feigned a loathing for the laughter. "Absolutely raving, unapologetically, horrifically _mad_ ," he'd instead decided to spit. Oh how the pepper makes people irritable.

The down right uncouthness of some individuals; oh, how he had been dragged— no, not down a rabbit hole, silly —down down down into a room flooded with tears and sorrows. Why, all he was missing was a dodo and a mouse and a few more pesky—

"Mr. Tetch?"

A snap brought his attention back to the kind woman donning such a modest nurse uniform. He blinked away the tiredness of eyes that stung to look down at the hand that was currently being wrapped up in tightly wound bandages, covering the stitching that had undoubtedly taken a while to put in place.

"Mr. Tetch, did you do this to yourself?" she asked, a voice softer than cotton he imagined, with eyes glimmering with concern. Jervis swallowed, confusion clouding his mind as he stopped her winding to take a look at the wound. Stitches had been required; the wounds must have been fairly deep. All round his dominant hand were these small gashes, marring his skin and making his hand a rather unpleasant red from inflammation. He found it disgusting; he'd rather gaze upon the azure of a pretty dress instead of crimson-tinted skin.

He opened his mouth to speak, brow knitted in obvious bewilderment, only for his senses to be shattered by a blaring alarm and the flashes of red light.

"ALERT: CODE RED. PATIENT 7863, PAMELA ISELY, HAS ESCAPED THE FACILITY. ALL PATIENTS MUST BE PUT AWAY AND ALL GUARDS ON THE LOOKOUT."

Gasps and words were exchanged between pawns before Hatter was soon thrown back into the hole they'd dragged him out of.

Time was once again lost to him as he picked at the bandages that the pawns had left on his hand. It hurt, he realized after a small while. What had they done to him? Quite rude of them, should he be quite honest.

"Twinkle twinkle little Bat, how I wonder what you're at," he would hum to himself in the midst of tear-filled shaking. Singing always made him feel better, even if it caused the Queen to screech and holler.

He missed his hat. His hands would reach for a hat that wasn't there. Had he sold it on accident? None of the hats were his, after all. More than that, however, he missed his Alice! Oh, where'd she gone? Stupid girl must have gotten lost; typical.

"Little Alice fell

 _d_

 _o_

 _w_

 _n_

the hOle, bumped her head and bruised her soul," the Hatter would whimper during his sleepless what-have-yous. If one could count the seconds and make his own night and day, could that be considered so? If a man can't see day and claims their sleepless nights as their daylight, would that be fact? To the birds it meant nothing, of course. They have no concept of time; they sung when the daylight came and slept when the moon dominated the sky. Now, if you induced ludicrous amounts of psychoactive control over their minds, you could get them to sing whenever you so commanded it.

"If you knew time as well as I do," he told dear Alice, "you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him."

Why was he wasting thoughts on birds when he was missing Alice _and_ his hat? Some hatter he was; he didn't even have a hat of his own anymore! The shaking and jittering would get to him before he would inevitably reach up to touch the rims of an unreal hat, the only items that could ever really bring him comfort in times like these, only to slam his head against the wall with tears as he was reminded everything he was missing.

"She's not imagined!" he scolded. "She's just lost! It all depends a great deal on where she wants to go! She'll get somewhere if she walks around long enou—"

"Jervis…" his mother rasped tiredly, strands of graying blonde hair having escaped from her bun to slip down aged features. A hand rubbed at her temple as she refused to even look at her sun. "How many times have I told you to stop quoting those bloody books? This is why I can't take you anywhere."

Alice Alice Alice. She was all he could think about. Pretty blonde hair and a smile that could light up a room. Oh how she must have been so terribly lost in Wonderland, searching for a Cheshire cat to point her his way so they could once again have tea with the Haigha. Ah, but Alice wasn't here, not yet, and so to keep himself from agonizing over her arrival, he busied himself more and more. He busies himself with the gnats and the daisies instead. Those wretched little things got themselves into his cell at times, crawling in and over the walls in search of food.

" _But I was thinking of a plan to dye one's whiskers green, and always use so large a fan that they could not be seen,_ " he sung to the small daisy, watching the thing skitter across the floor in delight at a new little friend. However, as daisies are so good to do, it proved itself unbearable what with its flying and its constant want to crawl over bloodied teacups he had bitten through whilst in the presence of the queen. So after Time had undoubtedly _not_ passed (the wretched man wouldn't move for him since he'd killed him, apparently), he grabbed a shoe, watching it skitter once more. " _So, having no reply to give to what the old man said,_

 _I cried 'Come, tell me how you live!_ '" He then smashed the little daisy until its blood and petals had splattered against the concrete wall. " _And thumped him on the head!_ "

At one point he'd been offered a biscuit. He suspected this as the Red Queen's doing, but it was quite uncivil to say no. They practically stuffed it in his mouth! How dreadfully savage— he'd never felt so choked in his life!

"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited," Jonathan criticized them. He was one to talk, given his choice of butter.

He reached for his hat to comfort himself, but it seemed he couldn't even move his hands. Quite frustrating it was; he would do some berating of his own, but he was still choked up by a particularly dry biscuit in his mouth.

Jervis seized up uncontrollably at the click of a button, that sharp jolt bringing his senses to a more awake, but hazed state. Jervis tried to mumble something through the mouthful of cotton, but even he didn't know what he was going to say.

"People who don't think shouldn't talk," Jonathan spat at him. Tetch thought he was on his side!

"Delivering another shock in 3… 2… 1."

Another jolt was sent through his body. He whimpered through the gag as soon as it was over, blinking wildly at blinding lights and prodding doctors. He tried to speak once more, but all that came up were muffled nonsense about how it was far too bright and it overwhelmed his senses.

"Alright, one more time before we send him back."

Jervis wanted to give his head a polite shake to indicate he was perfectly fine without another induced seizure. Quite rudely, his head was kept still.

"Delivering another shock in 3… 2… 1."

A rather uncouth squeak left Jervis when his body was once more forced to seize up so painfully.

"Are you sure we shouldn't be using general anesthetic?"

"No need. The man is hardly even lucid enough to understand what's happening. This is just to keep away those self-harming tendencies and to respond better to his medication."

"If you say so, Professor."

Jervis was thankful for the cotton in his mouth that prevented his overbite from sinking any lower than it did; yes it hurt, but it was certainly better than biting through his own tongue or lower lip.

"Delivering one last shock in 3… 2… 1."

"Duchess, dear, you're always so good with your morals," Hatter chirped upon regaining consciousness. The duchess nodded cheerily, the baby in her grasp letting out another cry of agony as he was shook once more for sneezing. The Hatter tittered, feeling hot liquid drip down his face. "Am I bleeding from my eyes? My face feels so hot and I can't explain why."

"I believe it's because you're crying, Hatter" the Duchess replied haughtily.

"Am I?" he asked, wiping his eyes in light surprise to see the liquid was indeed clear. "Oh, it appears you're right."

"Odd. You must be sad," she hummed, shaking that baby once more until it stopped its fussing altogether. "You're sad when you cry."

"Nonsense," Jervis huffed, wiping more of the streaming tears from his eyes. "I cry when I'm sad, duchess. They are not the same thing, I'll have you know."

"Well. Are you sad?" she huffed, clearly displeased by his attitude.

Hatter thought about the question, grasping at his head for a hat that wasn't there (some Hatter he was). "I… miss my Alice…" he murmured, his thoughts turning back to the one in which he gave his undying affections to.

There were times where Jervis experienced brief moments of lucidity. As rare as they might be, they only served to further his lack of understanding. One thing he knew, however, was that Alice could never be replaced. He could imagine March Hares and Dormice and frog footmen all he liked, but Alice was… Alice. Blonde hair that was sometimes a shade of mahogany or natural red, he couldn't get enough of his name on the lips of his Alice. How she laughed and acted as though he didn't enjoy the little bits of doting affection he threw his way. The trust, the bonding they'd endured, the _camaraderie._ The berating and loathsome attitude were all such trifles compared to the love and affection he had for the dear Hare. Oh he loved him more than anything, he couldn't wait to wrap his hands around his throat for leaving him alone for so long.

"I just… want to see Jonathan again…" he murmured, that hallucination of an ugly woman and her baby disappearing before his eyes as he laid back against the wall. "Do you think he loves me, too?"

To this, he received no answer.

Jervis smiled, wiping away his tears. "Does it matter? He makes me happy." He tittered softly, not at all disturbed by his own realization. He loved his Hare, as he'd always done. "He makes me feel wanted and listened to and important. He knows me better than anyone. Even myself, dare I say." He laughed softly, lying back in bed as he found himself connecting the cracks in the ceiling once more. "If he doesn't feel the same, well…" He shrugged to himself. "Well, they don't call me the _Mad_ Hatter for nothing, I'll have you know. Love under psychoactive control is still love."

He smiled cheerfully, these thoughts filling the spaces and cracks until the pawns dictated he was free to go. He hadn't even finished his tea by the time he'd gotten out. It seemed as though Time had hardly passed.


	5. Lights Cameras Explosions

It was September and yet it was already cold enough to make Lonnie shiver. Rubbing his hands together, he let stiffening fingers warm up under the resulting friction. He let the crowd of people silence themselves, taking the time to make sure their little corner of the exercise yard wasn't being intruded upon by pesky guards.

Machin looked upon the small crowd of inmates, finding it almost surreal that he was at the helm of what could practically be considered a cult. He looked up tentatively, watching Cash and a couple of other guards give them bitter looks from a little ways away. You had to give America one thing— they guarded that freedom of speech and religion right to the death, which had allowed Deacon Blackfire to continue to hold his outdoor sermons. Now, Anarky hated many organized religions and televangelists with a passion; many were for profit and only sought out to take as much from their followers as they could manage without killing them. He thought it a crime against humanity itself that so many of the most revered people in religious communities were corrupt or hypocritical. Joseph Blackfire himself was one of those many that he detested and would otherwise refuse to work with had they been outside Arkham walls. However, sometimes you have to work with the bad guys in order to get some good out there.

Joseph cleared his throat, lightly touching Lonnie's arm to bring him out of his thoughts as he went to sit on a bench. Machin looked over at him, a grimace crossing his face for a simple moment before he turned his attention to the small crowd.

"In many ways… we're very much like sheep," he began.

"As the lord is our shepherd," the Deacon hummed in agreement, getting a few happy mumbles from the audience.

"Exactly," Lonnie nodded, making it simple and refraining from turning against the other well-spoken man. "And unfortunately, like sheep, we've been kept locked up, forced to sit here in closed conditions while they sheer us of our wool. They keep us here, telling us we're sick and that we need help all the while they profit off of us and bring in everyone society doesn't want to deal with. They look at us with disdain, keeping us here as a justification for their fiscal sins. I'm sure many people here still remember Lyle Bolton. They keep us here meanwhile people like him continue to take advantage of their power and hurt us because they believe it's the best way to shut us up. How can we be helped by a system that doesn't even want to help us? At times, it feels as though we're too powerless to help ourselves." There were more noises of agreement from the small crowd, who seemed transfixed on the speaker. "That, of course, is what they want us to believe."

"To truly be helped, you must surrender to the lord and let him help you," Joseph added on, eliciting more shouts of agreement from his audience.

"And do you think we'll just sit here and do nothing while a corrupt system continues to take advantage of us?" Lonnie continued, his voice growing bolder as several in the crowd shouted out "no!" in their defiance. It was certainly catching attention, but Machin kept his voice low enough to where really only the group could hear him in their corner of the yard. "Our cries for help and justice have fallen upon the deaf ears of a self-indulgent society who believe their lives are worth so much more than ours. That is why we need to fight back to show that we are not weak and that have a voice and that we _will_ be listened to!"

From the crowd rose a few impassioned "yeah!" cries as Lonnie was successfully stirring up the will of the people. Of course one shout came up a little bit louder than the rest. "Hell yeah! That's why we need to get rid of all the Jews!"

"We need to—" Lonnie fumbled mid-sentence, brow shooting up at the sudden outburst. He struggled to get something out, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He threw a glance over at the Deacon, who looked equally as surprised at the anti-Semitic interruption. Machin turned back to the crowd, putting both hands up. "Whoa whoa whoa! No Mikey, we're not killing the Je— what is wrong with— we're keeping other religions out of this one!" Mikey decided to pipe his voice down in the crowd, a flush of embarrassment coming over him as the other members of the crowd looked over at him with wide eyes. Lonnie paused, putting his face in his hands for a moment before collecting himself and looking back at the schizophrenic. "Mikey, you can't blame all of our governmental problems on the—" He let out a tired sigh, looking at Blackfire. "You're better with religion. I'm tapping out." With that, he walked to go take a seat.

Joseph nodded, bringing himself to a proper stand as he gracefully strode to stand in the place of Machin. It was odd how someone of his age, who seemed so impassioned by his own beliefs and held a look of nothing but love towards his followers, could be capable of such heinous crimes as murder and could have broken the Bat himself. Even in the Arkham uniform, just the way in which he carries himself and presented himself cast the look of a servant of God. With his head tilted to the sky, he closed his eyes, letting the silence ring as if he were receiving the word of God himself. As convincing and passionate as Anarky could be, the Deacon had spent countless years honing his own craft. "The Bible speaks of a Son. A Son of Perdition that had turned away from the love and grace of God to further spite the world. He, my children, are why we've gathered for the past few days," he began. He turned his gaze to the crowd. "Brothers. Sisters. We are not a people of hatred. The focus of ire should never be towards those who have yet to see the light and love of the Lord. However, the Lord has granted us an out; a way to break free and further fight against the Son of Perdition. We are not one to refuse a gift from our lord, and so, that is why soon, we are going once again be free of these binds to once more stop this…" he shot a quick gaze to Lonnie "… oppression of our free will."

Recognizing it was close to the end of the period, he quickly decided to close out the sermon. "And so, we remember the plan from yesterday, don't we?" he concluded in far more hushed tone.

"Try not to kill, but remember that these cops will shoot to kill if you don't disarm them in time," Anarky reminded. "It needs to be a quick overtaking; as fast as possible before they even realize what's going on. As soon as the lights go out and the doors open, it's go time. There's no room for hesitation."

"And with that, I bring our session to a close," Joseph hummed, gesturing to dismiss the crowd. Slowly the group dispersed, leaving them silent as they passed the guards so as to not give anything away.

Machin and Blackfire were left to themselves, both of their followers part ways as they received more bitter looks from the guards. The two looked at each other, ready to part ways, but Joseph let go of a few parting words. "You know, you would make a fine preacher," he hummed, catching Lonnie by surprise.

"Preacher?" Machin parroted back, brow quirked. "I mean, thanks but… well, look, I'm not looking to be indoctrinated." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ask me in a couple years maybe we'll see." He paused, deciding to ask him a blunt question. "Besides. Do you even believe half the junk you spew out?"

That knowing smirk that graced the Deacon's face spoke volumes to Machin. "I could ask you the same thing," Blackfire hummed, arms crossed in a condescending fashion.

The two stared at one another silently before parting way, almost unable to wait for their chance to be free of the asylum and each other.

* * *

Garfield whistles a cheery tune as he kicked the edge of his bed in barely contained excitement. "C'mon… c'mon… c'mon…" he would repeat without end. It didn't take a clock to know that Ivy was certainly taking her sweet time, but his impatience was certainly unhelpful. He couldn't help himself, in his defense; it took all of his willpower not to flick the lighter just to keep himself busy. "C'mon, Ivy, where you at?" He bit his pillow unconsciously, trying to keep that undeniable itch at bay until it was time.

Over to the side, Firefly heard his cellmate snore rather loudly, able to drown out the pyromaniac's impatience with his own rather obtuse sounds. "Ah, what an angel," Garfield could only chuckle, shaking his head.

He nearly shot up like a rocket when he heard a small tap on some glass. Garfield damn near fell out of bed trying to get to his feet, his excitement almost uncontainable when he saw a guard tapping on the reenforced door of his cell. "Ivy you're a fucking lifesaver," Garfield sighed, reaching under his pillow to grab the wrench whilst the goon looked either way down the hall before scanning his ID and opening the door so Garfield could quickly make his escape. The pyromaniac made sure to stuff a few pillows under his blankets in case a few curious guards decided to look in. The asylum was hardly a quiet place, even at night, and so they had to move quickly. Leading the fire wielder down the hall as swiftly as possible, both found themselves outside and in the chilly night air as soon as they turned the corner and to the fire exit.

Lynns stood in frigid September air, letting the wind hit whatever his body could feel as for a brief moment he felt like a free man once more. It was a blissful feeling, really, but not one that lasted long.

"How can you enjoy this kind of temperature drop?" Edward scoffed, his arms held tightly to his chest in an attempt to keep himself relatively warm.

"Easy," Garfield snickered, showing off a rather withered hand to the disgusted prince of puzzles. "When you've seared most of your nerve endings away, it's hard to feel anything." He looked over to spot the goddess-like pile of kindling herself watching him in silent disdain. "Ivy! Geeze you're shivering like a leaf! If you want we can go steal a few matches and I can warm you up pretty quickly."

Ivy scoffed as his snarky grin. "Garfield Lynns I can't wait for the day when my spores will be feeding off of your life force as you rot," she threatened, but Firefly hardly seemed deterred by it. "Oh honey, my flamethrower's in the basement," he hummed sweetly, daring to get in her face. "We can settle this now if you'd like. I bet you'd light up like a big. Dead. Christmas tree."

Ivy scowled, ready to bite back, but it was Edward who spared the two the effort by getting in between them, pushing each other away before things got ugly. "Alright, you two. You can kill each other when we get out of here, but right now we need you both alive if we want to get out of here." He pointed North, along the wall. "Let's just go before one of you two idiots implode."

"This would be far easier if I just used my fumes on him to get him to comply," Ivy shot to Edward, although still silently agreeing by following him as they traveled along the perimeter of the asylum.

"Don't even bother," Nygma scoffed. "I'm sure Lynns is only attracted to large walking piles of napalm."

"Large walking piles of napalm that also happen to be dudes," Lynns butt in with a knowing wink to Ivy, who simply groaned with a roll of her eyes.

The three and Ivy's infatuated boy toy made their way around the asylum, Nygma scanning around its walls for something familiar all the while keeping in the bind spots of security cameras. While it was reasonable to assume they could just leave right now, such a task was far harder than it seemed. What with guards patrolling the entire island and ones stationed at kiosks of both the exit and entrance if the bridge to the mainland, the only criminals who could probably get away with the classic "get in a guard uniform and pass through" scheme were some of the lesser known patients and most definitely Clayface. No, in order to minimize the chances of getting caught, they needed to maximize the size of the outbreak.

"This is it," Riddler announced, stopping in his tracks next to a certain spot of wall. Just beside him, not even a foot off the ground was a vent placed securely on the wall, low enough to where none of them would be able to reach. Garfield blinked in surprise, pointing at the vent in vague confusion. "This is it? You sure?" he asked, trying to be absolutely sure they were going in the right direction.

Nygma scoffed, obviously offended Garfield even found the need to ask. "Of course I'm sure," he replied, crossing his arms. "The vent leads down into the basement floor, where I can access the database. You and Ivy will be able to access the boiler room betwixt Croc and Clayface's cells. Understood?"

"Whoa. Betwixt?" Lynns asked, focusing on that one word whilst Ivy commanded her goon to remove the vent cover so they could get in.

"Yes. It's a word," Edward huffed, arms crossed. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, no problem at all," Lynns replied, seemingly earnest in his statement. "I'm just constantly surprised by how much of a nerd you are. Use between like everyone else." Nygma looked absolutely befuddled.

" _Excuse_ me? For someone with the vocabulary of a children's book, you have no right to tell me what diction I should or should not employ!"

"See? There it is again. Nerd."

"I don't see you getting on Jervis for this sort of thing. Half of his vocabulary was made up!"

"Well yeah, but Jervis is British, so he has an excuse to be fancy. Besides, half the shit from the UK is weird anyways, like free health care. My medical bills after my accident were probably two-fifths of the reason why I turned to a life of crime."

Nygma's mouth hung open, before wrenching shut. He took in a slow and steady exhale, before calmly walking away so he could get some fresh air away from the idiot polluting his space. The last thing they needed was to catch attention by Riddler ranting about how he was surrounded by neanderthals. Lynns watched him leave, before turning his gaze onto the nearly finished vent. "He does know I'm just fucking with him, right?" he then mentioned, arms crossed as the last bolt was removed.

"I'm sure he does, and he hates that it's working," Ivy sighed, only looking up at him with malice and annoyance to show it was working on her as well.

Thankfully for all of their sakes, the vent was removed and the guard was the first one to go in, just to make sure it was safe and to remove the vent cover on the basement floor. During this time Nygma finally made his way back over, a resting expression that read he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone who wouldn't carry on an intelligent conversation with him at that moment.

"So… where is everyone hiding out until this all blows over?" Lynns asked the other two, who looked up at him suspiciously. While Ivy was unsure if Lynns was trying to find out where she was so he could set her on fire, Edward was more concerned about whether or not Garfield was trying to fuck with him again. Lynns felt the tension and cleared his throat. "I'm staying out with Floyd for a few days until I find a place of my own," he began. "He says just so long as I don't set his shit on fire, I can sleep on the couch."

"Deadshot?" Ivy questioned, brow raised. She'd never exactly gotten to know the assassin before, but he supposed everyone had their own little group of associates outside of the Asylum. "Well, Harley and I already have a place that hasn't been compromised as of yet. Somewhere nice with some greenery. The only problem is getting there without having anyone notice the pigment of my skin."

Both villains looked over at Edward, who was now surprised that this had turned into some sort of sharing time. Though, he supposed there was no harm in contributing; while Ivy and Firefly certainly hated each other, Ed had no qualms with either of them (other than the fact that he was both a man and human, a double sin in Ivy's case), so he decided to let a few plans be known. "Well if you must know, I'm still currently hashing that part out," Nygma huffed. "As you both very well know, my hideout has just been compromised the other day, and so I have Query and Echo on the search for a new place to stay. Until then, I'm having them convince Penguin to let me hunker down in his lounge for a few days. Shouldn't take much convincing."

"Hey, I hear Chinatown has a few spots open," Garfield suggested with a knowing look. "You could always go back there."

"Lynns, because of you, I can _never_ go back to Chinatown," Nygma scowled, tearing his gaze away as they heard a small tapping on the metal vent.

"He's done," Ivy announced, before looking at the other two. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get started so we can all get off this wretched island."

Edward was the first to make his way down, expertly moving through the vents soundlessly from prior experience and silently dropping down into the dark and empty database room. He had to say he was impressed when Ivy and Garfield didn't come crashing down after him, but he had to remind himself they were all practically raised in the same asylum.

"Garfield and I are going to the boiler room," Ivy informed Edward. "Think you'll have it done by the time we finish?"

"Oh please, don't doubt me," Edward scoffed, finding his way to a computer and pulling out a flash drive that Harvey had generously smuggled in for him. Without any further need to stick around, Ivy and Garfield and the guard quickly made their way out of the door and down the hallway.

Patrolling guards were easy to take care of as long as the villains saw them first. Both would wait for a guard to pass before Ivy would quickly come behind and work her magic with the pink fumes that had men nearly stumbling over to help her out. Cameras were covered by a haze of flowers just long enough for them to quickly pass by as soon be uncovered. It would be suspicious to have a bunch of guards not at their posts, so Ivy had them stay were they were. Ivy could only really do this for a limited amount of people, but they just needed enough to get past the large window that peered into the dusty, clay covered room of Clayface's cell and into the boiler room.

Garfield took a small gander around the room, noticing its large size. As Ed had mentioned when going over their plan, the large fuse box for the entire building was stationed inside the room, next to the boiler itself. With this being a room mostly for maintenance, many pipes were exposed so they could be easily accessed. "Oh… this is perfect," Lynns grinned, looking the room up and down. "I can work with this." Now in the zone, he searched for vents and the like. "Alright, Ivy, I need you to seal up any vents," he ordered, already going over to a gas pipe and pulling out the wrench that had been smuggled to him. Pamela did as suggested, winding vines around the air vents until practically no air could escape, watching patiently as Garfield loosened a valve to a gas pipe and subsequently disconnected the two pieces. The small hissing sound coming from the thin pipe let it be known that the clear natural gas was being slowly leaked into the room. "Welp, that was easy," Lynns finished, before moving to the door, only to be stopped by Pamela.

"So you're positive this isn't going to collapse the building or anything?" Ivy asked, a warning look in her eye as she let it be clear that she didn't completely trust the pyromaniac to be truthful about his explosions.

Lynns scoffed, but understood her concerns. "Arkham's foundation is sturdy, Ivy," he assured her. "The only thing this is going to do is blow one big ass hole in the wall and ensure that the power goes out." He then pointed to the ceiling. "And yeah, the ceiling is going to give out, but Ed says this room is directly below the asylum's kitchen, so it all should be fine."

"Should be?" Ivy questioned, not buying his confidence.

Garfield paused, turning down the attitude for just a moment and letting out a small sigh. "Listen, Harley's going to be just fine. I know my explosions, and this is going to be one fuck of a detonation all around Arkham, but I blow shit up and set buildings in fire for a living. Arkham is old, but he can take one hell of a beating, and this gas explosion isn't going to destroy him, alright?" He paused, allowing her to take his words in. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, if I'm wrong, you can use my corpse as a flower pot for a tree or something."

Ivy couldn't help but crack a smile at his attempt to cheer her up with his own death. "I'll… keep that in mind," she nodded, looking away. "Let's go. Ed's probably done by this time."

Making their way back to the room was only slightly easier than the first trip. The basement was also known as the highest security wing, where only the most dangerous of the inmates were kept. The two main occupants were Clayface and Killer Croc, but it was also where Solitary was held for the inmates who caused the most trouble. Needless to say, there were a few guards wandering the halls, but nothing Ivy couldn't handle with ease.

"You done yet, Ed?" Garfield called into the room, holding back a snicker as the bright computer monitor lit up the annoyed grimace Nygma steered his way in darkness. Ed gestured them over, typing in a few more keys into the program before pressing enter, thus saving the changes into the program. "Just finished," he announced, shutting off the monitor and pulling out the flash drive. "That should get the job done, provided you're actually able to blow that fusebox sky high. Now let's get out of here."

"On it," Ivy confirmed, and before Ed could ask how she planned to do that, he felt something large and thick wrap around his waist. He gave a rather emasculating cry of surprise as he was quickly lifted up and dragged back through the vent by one of Poison Ivy's large vines that jutted out of the ground. He immediately cringed, quickly patting the vine to get it to release him as quickly as possible. The feeling of being manhandled by a plant was one that was not only strange, but also absolutely terrifying.

Ivy was pulled out of the vent just in time to see Nygma be dropped like a sack of rocks onto the cold ground below. That was a image going straight into her mental memory book. Lynns was practically tossed out while the one guard that had been tailing them as safely set down.

"Nice, Ivy," Nygma huffed, getting up and dusting himself off, already heading back to the fire exit they had escaped through so they could sneak back into their cells. "Real nice."

"So that little flash drive you put in there is gonna set us all free, right?" Firefly made sure to ask. Everyone was understandably anxious as the days were passing and the day seemed just about ready to come. Any little mistake could blow up the plan and send them all into Solitary. Even with the risk so high, however, it was undoubtedly exciting for the most part. After all, no one could really be a rogue if they didn't like thrill and the risk of it all.

"Essentially," the Riddler confirmed, smoothing his hair down cooly as they brusquely made their way back to the door. "Query and Echo were able to download a virus I'd created several months before I was recaptured. You see, Arkham's computers are connected to the emergency power system. The moment you blow the power out, the emergency power system is going to come on. The virus is essentially programmed to run once it is connected to the emergency source, overriding the main command console for the building and getting all of the prison doors of the asylum to open."

"So what's stopping us from doing it right now?" Ivy asked, arms crossed as she simply tried to keep herself warm from the nip of the air. She wasn't impatient, just weighing all of their options. For a woman weak to sea water, she didn't have many on this island, so could really only follow along and hope everything goes well.

"For one, Lonnie and Blackfire need a bit more time. As well, Arkham employs the same number of guards at night as they do during the day," Edward replied. "The best time to break out would be during a major break in the schedule and while many of the guards aren't expecting it."

"That's where Jervis comes in," Lynns added.

"Exactly," Edward grinned, turning to them. "As long as everyone does their part, we should all be able to get out of here before the sun rises after tomorrow. Then we can part ways and never have to speak to each other again."

"That sounds fantastic," Ivy sighed, just wishing the night would pass by sooner so she could stop hiding out in the cold. With an expectant hand, she turned to Garfield. "Now. Hand it over."

Lynns blinked, sighing heavily as he reluctantly pulled out his lighter. "You're so lucky."

"Hand it over."

"God I envy you so hard right now."

"We don't have all night."

"Can't I just light… one fire before I have to go?"

"Lynns!"

Garfield sighed and reluctantly forced over the lighter. "Fine. Here. Take it. Just… tell me about how big the explosion is when we blow this joint, alright?"

* * *

Jonathan kept his eyes to the TV, listening to Lynns sigh dramatically in the corner as Dent flipped the coin once more. As it had been for the five times prior, the coin happened to find itself on the bad half, ergo the channel was once again changed from the sports channel to some home shopping network only the elderly would be above to recognize right away. Crane let out a small exhale, not missing the head turn Harvey gave in response. "Is there a problem?" Two-Face growled, loading the coin onto his thumb once again.

Jonathan held both hands up innocently. "Oh, please, by all means, do continue. I have no problem whatsoever."

"I do!" Firefly complained, draping himself over the back of the couch dramatically. "Harvey. Two-Face. Buddy. You're killing me here. Just pick a fucking channel!"

The coin was flipped once again, and it was decided that the channel had to be changed. This time, it was to golf. Lynns looked dismayed at the sight. "Please, Harvey, buddy, for the love of all things flammable and with the tendency to explode, _don't_ pick this one." The coin made its way through the air, and miraculously it seemed that all of the bad karma that had piled onto Lynns' back had finally decided to show itself when the coin landed on the unmarred side.

"Golf it is," Two-Face decided, setting down the remote and looking back in time to see Garfield slide back and onto the floor of the rec room with a loud groan. Jonathan saw this little tell and waited until Garfield had slinked away to ask his question. "Two-Face. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he inquired knowingly.

"Tch. Of course not," Two-Face spat at him. "You ever do anything other than try to wriggle your way into people's heads?"

"Harvey, is he doing this on purpose?" Jonathan then asked.

"Oh absolutely," Harvey was quick to admit with a nod, getting a knowing "hmmm" from the man two cushions down. "But I don't mind golf. I used to play it every now and then with some friends to get away from this city for a few hours. You know, the Commissioner and Bruce Wayne; those types."

"Mmm, how…" Jonathan paused, attempting to find the right word. "… domestic." He wasn't complaining, however, and turned to look back at the TV. A domesticated life, he thought to himself. A wife, a home, a stable job, friends to call his own; yes, it seemed Harvey had been quite the icon of the American Dream before his accident had turned him into the model of the modern Gothamite. How odd it was that Crane pondered over Harvey's life when he himself had been in a similar situation. A professor, a published author, a psychiatrist with a home, a respectable career, and he could fondly remember a girlfriend at times. How odd it was that some of the most respectable men could fall so low, or so they say. Years before Jonathan had found it silly to think he could ever be found among the insane of this asylum, and just month before present day it was almost foolish to believe he would ever turn back to his old life. Crane prioritized his work above all else and would never think to abandon it, and yet, he did miss the quiet nature of a life long gone. Yes, he would never be in the position he once held, but damn, it would be nice not to have to instinctually hide his face when out and about and to simply live in peace without the looming threat of a man dressed as a bat.

 _Is this what you really want?_

Jonathan watched the TV, letting out a slow exhale as he refocused on what the players were doing. Focus had been hard for him for the past months, but he seemed to be steadily regaining more control of himself as the days passed. Thankfully that obnoxious clock had been removed for good. Taking a small look around, he was there to lay witness to Joker slamming a chessboard over an inmates head, laughing as the man crumpled to the ground. Jonathan winced, turning to look at Harvey, who seemed to be idly flipping that coin as he watched the television. Jonathan felt the tension in his own body, finally coming to an answer.

He wanted to feel content with himself again.

He looked over to see an inmate painstakingly putting together a jigsaw puzzle. He recognized the inmate as having a Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, as well as an intense fear of pigs. "You," Jonathan said curtly, watching the inmate perk up in immediate fear at his voice. Lesser known inmates knew to be wary of being singled out by the former professor. The man swallowed, giving a nervous grin as he nodded to let Jonathan know he was listening. Crane stated for a few moments. "Get me a cup of water," he said simply, watching the patient get up and skitter away to get him his cup. Crane let a faux smile show as he was shakily handed a styrofoam cup of water. "Thank you, Mulligan. You may leave." As the man left his presence, he couldn't help but think that while being content with himself would feel refreshing, he could still enjoy the perks of his current status until then.

As he was about to down his water, the couch grew heavy with the weight of a third person taking up the middle space. Bringing fingers through neatly combed dark brown hair, Edward let his exhaustion be known with a rather heavy sigh, an indicator he wanted his thoughts to have an attentive ear at the ready. Jonathan held up a finger to silently have him pause, taking a moment to down the entire cup of cold water so he could at least have his thirst quenched before Nygma would keep him there for another eternity. Setting the cup in a small bin beside the couch, he looked at Edward. "What's wrong?"

Nygma didn't particularly enjoy being picked at by the doctor, but right now he had bigger things to worry about. "Query and Echo," he said curtly, letting the names of his two right-hands speak for themselves.

"Ah. They've been found?" Crane hummed, knowing this was more than just a setback to Nygma. Query and Echo were practically Riddler's right hands; they appeared on TV with him, did a lot of the leg work, and damn did they look good while doing it, not to mention they were just bright enough to be able to do Nygma's bidding and not absolutely mess it up as many henchmen were known to do. As Edward was beginning to answer, he had to pause to yawn, a wave of exhaustion coming over him. Jonathan watched silently, waiting until he was done to inquire, "Had a sleepless night, Nygma?"

Edward grimaced, looking away as he tried to hide his tired features. "More or less;" he replied, "my obnoxious cellmate was snoring loudly all night last night. I don't know how anyone is supposed to get some shut eye through all that snoring." It wasn't a lie. His cellmate could snore loud enough to wake the dead; Ed just wasn't there to listen to most of it.

"It truly is a pity for you then," Jonathan told him, thinking nothing of the explanation and going back to the topic of Edward's assistants. "Well, if we ever do escape, you're always welcome to stay in my lair for a few days until you get yourself settled. From what I've heard, my place of work has miraculously remained untouched."

Edward found himself rather taken aback by the unprompted offer. He wasn't quite sure if this was genuine or a ploy to get him strapped to a chair and needles into his skin. It doesn't matter if he was a known associate of the man for years; backstabbing was a common practice amongst rogues with grudges, and Jonathan wasn't always the most reasonable fellow. However, he didn't seem to have any ill intent in the offer, and it certainly was appealing. "Well… that's quite a generous offer, Jonathan," he finally commented. "I'll keep that in mind for when we escape Arkham."

" _If_ we escape Arkham," Jonathan emphasized, earning an incredulous and critical look from his peer.

"And since when were you such a pessimist?" Edward scoffed, catching Jonathan unflappable stare.

"When was I ever an optimist?" Crane sneered, looking back up at the TV in disinterest.

Nygma paused, thinking over the response as he, too, looked up at the television. "You know what? Disregard that last question," he backtracked, looking over at Harvey. "New one. Why are we watching golf?"

"It was the coin," Harvey answered without a hint of shame.

"Ah. Here. Let me fix that," Ed hummed, snatching the remote out of Harvey's hand and quickly changing the channel to the news. With that, he stuffed the remote back into Harvey's hand. "See? Better." Harvey was silent, the coin silently moving to his thumb, only to be launched through the air in a series of quick somersaults. A tension was left thick in the air, only cut through when the coin landed in his hand and was placed squarely on the back of his other hand to reveal the clean side of the coin. "Yeah. Better," Harvey mumbled, turning up the volume to better hear the newscaster.

The room was fairly calm. Lesser known inmates were playing board games and talking and the like. Garfield and Baby Doll were talking this and that, Pyg was making some origami as he talked nonstop with another inmate, Zsasz was simply reading a book, and Harley was pretending to be upset about the sudden disappearance of Poison Ivy. Jonathan wasn't born yesterday; he knew Ivy's sudden vanishing was apart of some elaborate scheme that Joker brought up to him the week before. Of course, he didn't know how, nor did he care to know; he let Harley put on her little show whilst he simply waited to see where this would lead.

As the period droned on, Jonathan thought he would doze off soon enough (never a good idea with the Joker about; he always seemed able to get his filthy paws on a permanent marker somehow), but his attention was brought back to the waking world when he heard a snort of surprise come from Lazlo. Joker's loud voice rang out across the room, "Jerv! You're back, you little scamp!"

That squeak of surprise from Jervis was unmistakable. Jonathan's disinterest was evident already through the roll of his eyes. Edward seemed to care enough to lift himself up just a bit and shoot a gaze back from over the couch. Whatever he saw must have been quite the surprise, as it quickly brought about a small "well then" from the riddle-loving rogue. Interest now finally piqued, Jonathan shot his own gaze back in an almost lethargically slow manner. Crane's expression changed to one of light shock in a manner of seconds, however. "What in the name of…"

A doctor gently gestured Jervis in. "Come on, Tetch, we're here," he spoke gently, helping Jervis over to a seat. The Hatter looked to be an absolute mess. His usually neat and tidy hair disheveled, clothing all ruffled, and a large set of bandages that were carefully wound around his hand. Jonathan instantly recognized the wide-eyed look and shaking from a number of patients in the past that had decided to go cold turkey on their medication; Jervis was suffering from withdrawal and he more than likely had no idea what was going on at the moment. Something inside Crane clicked into place as he withdrew his glasses from the neck of his uniform, unfolding them and putting them on on the bridge of his nose as he smoothly got up from the couch. Call it the leftover instincts of a former doctor or familiarity from the therapy session in his childhood home, but before he could even recognize what he was doing, he was beside Jervis, taking him by the arm and gently grabbing him by the chin to assess his physical state.

The doctor, of course, was surprised, but when she realized Jervis wasn't struggling or seemed to be in any physical pain from the actions, she figured it was harmless. Deciding her part was done, she moved to leave. However, before she could even reach the door, Jonathan was in front of her, arms crossed. "Has he eaten anything today?" he asked, his voice firm to where she knew he was demanding an answer.

The doctor blinked, surprised by his sudden intrusive nature into Jervis' wellbeing. She was able to make her own firm stance against the man who was obviously trying to intimidate her, responding with, "No, but—"

"And has he taken his medication today?" Jonathan interrupted, whatever insincere politeness he'd once shown now down the drain as he grilled the woman.

The doctor gave a stern look to the patient that was trying to pry information from her. "Mr. Crane, we go by a strict schedule," she replied to him. "I can assure you that Mr. Tetch has been put on a daily medication cycle that—"

"Yes yes, I know how it goes, I worked here long before you even graduated medical school," Jonathan butt in, obviously not having the woman's attempts at dismissing his questions. "He's supposed to take a dose of clozapine every morning at 8:00 AM sharp. I'm asking you if he has taken his medication _today_." The doctor's eyes flicked up to the clock, as if checking the time. It was a little past noon. "Doctor, I swear, if you tell me it's past 8:00 AM, I might just hurt somebody."

The doctor's stern look became even more incredulous. "Well, I personally have no prior experience with schizophrenics, but—"

" _Clearly_."

"— _but_ rest assured that patients always receive their medication on time, as I'm sure you know. Now, you have no business inquiring about the health of another patient because, need I remind you, you've had your medical license revoked." The doctor seemed to think she'd ended the conversation there and tried to make a move to go around him and along the wall. To her complete surprise, his hand slammed against the wall before she could cross, his arm blocking her path. Guards were immediately on alert, already approaching the two.

"Well, I _have_ had experience with schizophrenics," Crane shot back, his voice icy yet firm and cutting, "because _I_ was his _doctor_. And yes, I did get my medical license removed (good on you for doing your research), but it was because I _tortured_ people, not because I was incompetent. Unlike _you_."

At this point, the entire room had gone silent so everyone could get an earful of what was probably the best entertainment they would get all day. Jervis seemed confused as to just what was going on, but seemed to brighten when he realized it was Jonathan yelling at the doctor in his defense. Harvey and Edward were turned around in their seats to watch, Joker was trying to keep himself from laughing, and when Jonathan punctuated his last word with the icy vitriol usually associated with the Riddler, Harley and Garfield could audibly be heard in the back drumming the table loudly and going "OHHHHHH!"

The woman's eyes grew in size at the sudden attack on her credibility as a professional. "Excuse me?" she drew out, a tone seemingly threatening him, but alas, it almost sounded pathetic in the way she tried to somehow make herself out to be a force greater than Crane.

 _Break her._

Jonathan's hand twitched, trying to have a little restraint with the woman.

 _You know you want to. It would be so easy._

Oh how he really did. However, he was a better man than that. He instead held himself a bit straighter as he merely gave the woman one of the more scathing looks in his arsenal, and for a man who didn't show much emotion, it wasn't a pretty sight. "If you're a doctor here and you can't make out the signs that one of the patients is going through withdrawal, then I don't know what to tell you."

The doctor had clearly had enough of Crane, who seemed to think he knew better than the one who currently held the job. Sure, she'd never dealt with schizophrenics or patients with withdrawal symptoms, but it gave him no right to treat her like that. "If there is any problems with Mr. Tetch's medication, his doctor will certainly be able to detect it when he goes in for his therapy session after your exercise period. Now, if you'll _excuse me_ , I have to leave." With that, she pushed past him, feeling his glare burn into her the entire time she spent walking out of the room.

Crane said nothing about it, noticing the guards were giving him wide-eyed stares. "Can I help you?" he sneered, moving away from them and over to Jervis, who was sat down in a chair at their usual chess table. With the event now over, many of the inmates were now back to chatting, more than likely discussing what had just unfolded.

Jonathan gestured for Jervis' hand, which he graciously gave over with a wide smile. He silently checked over his hand, grimacing in at the sight of smaller, less serious wounds dotting his fingers and wrists. It would certainly take a bit of time to heal. "How do you feel?" he murmured, bringing his eyes up to meet Tetch's. And there was the look. That look that Jervis held was one of pure… infatuation. Jonathan tried to write it off as simply the joy of seeing a friend again, but oh he knew there was no mistaking that look, even if it was one he almost never received.

"Oh, far pleasanter now that you've come in with that vorpal blade to slay that wicked cur," he hummed, hiding dusting cheeks with a free hand. "Oh you can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!" He paused, covering his mouth and closing his eyes as though he were about to throw up. He recovered swiftly, however, giving a little "pardon me" at the little interruption. "Well, I must admit I'm not feeling my best, it seems."

"I can see that," Jonathan murmured, getting up from his seat so he could simply get out of there. "Well, it appears there is not much I can do for you. What you need is to interact with others. Social contact. Why don't you go say hi to Valentin? He's missed you terribly you know."

Jervis looked rather confused at the sudden pushing him onto his friend, but at the mention of the Duchess, he brightened up. "Oh, you're most definitely right. I'll get right on that," he smiled, quickly humming a tune as he made his way across the room.

Crane watched Jervis leave just long enough to see Lazlo lift him up as though he were a child and giddily squeeze him with a hug, which got a cheerful laugh from the smaller individual. Turning his gaze away, he settled his burning stare at the clown prince of crime himself. Joker grinned at him from his table, waving his fingers at him provokingly in an attempt to see Jonathan's restraint snap like a twig. Crane, however, only gave him a blank stare that receded in its scathing tone. Deciding to wait for lunch, he turned away, going back to sit next to Edward. Removing his glasses, he folded them once more and hooked them over the neck of his shirt.

Harvey and Edward said nothing as Crane grabbed the remote and changed the bloody news of the TV back to golf, something far more peaceful. After a few moments of silence however, Edward cleared his throat. "So… Crane," he began slowly. Crane purposefully turned his head ever so slowly to stare at Nygma, who cleared his throat and looked away. "Er, never you mind."

* * *

Joker loaded the overcooked broccoli onto the empty spoon, leaning the utensil over the edge of the tray. He lined up his shot as though he were Deadshot and not instead the man who once loaded Deadshot's gun with blanks that blasted out confetti. That nearly had him assassinated. Ah, what good times. Without hesitation, he slammed his fist onto the propped up handle of the spoon, watching the green food go flying before it would land with a splat in Baby Doll's food. Joker giggled like a child as soon as he heard the little woman go "EEEEEWWWW!" The other lesser inmates at the clown's table laughed and commended him on a good shot.

Joker's giggling failed to cease when Jonathan sat down across from him, plateless. Joker grinned and waved at him, shoveling a piece of broccoli into his mouth as he stared back at the watching man. As soon as Crane scanned around the table, everyone at the table got up and left, and so it was just the two notorious rogues. This continued on until Joker eventually swallowed. "You know, the courteous thing is to offer the person you're staring at your pudding cup if you're just going to stare at them," he snickered sarcastically, a devilish smirk across his face. Make no mistake; every expression this man gave made it very clear he knew he was caught, and that his intentions weren't pure. A mock expression of distraught played out before Crane. "But alas! You haven't even gotten lunch!" He paused to wrestle with the neck of his uniform as if he were straightening his tie. "However, I am a gentleman. You can have mine." He then meticulously picked up the pudding cup off the plate, gently placed it onto the table, and with one finger, pushed it over to Crane.

Jonathan, unsurprising, was completely unamused. So he instead pushed the pudding back. "I'm not hungry," he declined simply.

Joker pouted, as if offended by the man's choice to deny such a generous gift. "Not hungry? Not surprising," he snickered. "I'm sure eating more than two meals a day is difficult for you when you grew up malnourished. Hard habit to break, am I right? It's like how I'm so used to being forced to shower in under five minutes in here that sometimes I forget that I literally have unlimited water when I'm back at home because I killed the guy coming to take the water bill." There was no visible reaction. "Ha! Relatable, am I right? Habits quite a bitch to break. Or is that just a health choice on your part? I'm looking to lose some weight and anorexia is looking pretty appealing right now." Looking back down at the pudding cup, he pushed it back over. "Oh c'mon, it's choocolaaaate~!" Not even that brought out any sort of reaction from the completely stolid man. "Oof. You're good. Do you teach classes on how to be as dead inside as you are?"

Joker was trying to break him, and suffice to say, he was pretty damn effective, but the Scarecrow was good at what he did, and wouldn't lose himself over the clown's antics. "Enough," he announced, placing his preverbal foot down to get the clown to shut his mouth. "I want you to tell me what you plan to do with Jervis."

Joker immediately took to laughing at the demands, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes soon after. Of course, when this was meant with silence, he perked up. "Oh! You're serious!" he replied in what seemed like genuine surprise. "Ha. I should have figured, seeing as I've never heard you tell a joke _ever,_ but I didn't actually think you were serious." He threw a hand up, feigning disinterest. "After all, what's it to you? Why do you care?"

"Jervis is a frequent partner of mine," Jonathan replied without missing a beat. "We have plans constructed that we want to enact once we're out of this asylum. If you plan to kill him, it would certainly be a detriment to my work."

Joker listened with a curious expression, slowly opening his pudding cup and grabbing his cheap metal spoon. "Oh, that's a good one!" he praised, quickly shoving a spoonful of chocolate pudding in his mouth. Without even swallowing, he continued to talk. "I should use that next time I want to convince a guy I won't kill him once he's outlived his usefulness. Everyone loves the old switcharoo!"

Jonathan refrained from scowling, but his displeasure only became more evident as time went on. He could really only find annoyance in the clown, surprised he had ever worked with him in the first place before. How Harley could have dealt with this all day every day before she clung to Ivy was far beyond him.

Joker's laughter died soon enough, his expression lackadaisical, but cocky, undoubtedly taunting the other man into throwing a swing. "Seriously though. What's your deal with the munchkin? First you're buddy buddy, then you hate him, now you're demanding to know what are plans are? Last I checked, Mr. Haybale, _you_ were the one who declined to partake in our little soiree, so _you_ don't have the right to learn jack!" Another spoonful was shoved into his mouth, but this time, he actually took the time to swallow. Truly a gentleman. "Is he really worth that much to you?" he asked, brow quirked. He let it pause, a sly and malicious look crossing his face. "Is he worth more than Savannah?"

Jonathan's stolid expression cracked for the first time to show the subtle signs of shock. Joker picked it up almost immediately, falling into inane giggles. "Yes, I know about her," he snickered teasingly.

"How?" Jonathan demanded, his voice kept low and under his breath, not in an attempt to be quiet, but it was due to just how much he was holding back.

Joker twirled the spoon between his fingers, his devilish grin only widening as his further demands. "First you want to know about Jervis, and now Savannah? Geeze, dinner and a movie first, bucko." He shoved another spoonful into his mouth, before tossing the empty pudding cup over his shoulder. "Does it matter how I know? The point is that I know, and if you want to keep it at just knowing, I strongly suggest you back off of the Hatter so we can actually have some fun around here." Crossing his arms, he sat back in his stool, his expression taunting once more. "After all, we wouldn't anything _funny_ to happen to the poor girl, would we?"

Jonathan was silent for the most part, but everything about him had changed. Although he was never relaxed in the first place, he had stiffened considerably at Joker's words. His glare had hardened into a scathing, malicious look. Any attempt to mask his underlying emotions had dissipated in that moment. "Are you _threatening_ me?" he growled, the world silent to him as he simply focused on Joker at that moment.

"And? What if I am?" the criminal scoffed, brow cocked as that obnoxious grin only grew. "I don't think you understand here, staw-for-brains. I'm—"

"No, _you_ don't understand, clown," Jonathan snarled, hands slamming on the table to create a large bang that was muffled throughout the commotion of the asylum cafeteria. Joker jolted a tad, having half expected it to be an physical attack. He even leaned away when Crane abruptly stood, leaning his face in until their words could only be heard by them. "You don't _get_ to threaten me and not expect consequences, _Joker_."

"Well, _strawman_ , I think you need to—"

" _No!_ " Jonathan snapped, a hand coming up and grasping Joker just at the base of his head, clutching tightly so he wouldn't move. "You're going to shut up and you're going to listen to me, _clown_. I am not one who takes threats in stride. You may think me weak nowadays, but it seems I must remind you that I am still the Scarecrow. You only understand a fraction of what I'm capable of, so I suggest you choose your next words wisely before I become your undoing."

Joker held his tongue for a moment, before bursting into hysterical laughter, although it didn't seem to be out of any sort of cruelty. When Jonathan's hand tightened on his pressure points, he choked for a minute, quickly stifling his laughter. "Ohhh Johnny Johnny Johnny! I knew you still had some fun left in you! You're like a big hibernating bear sometimes, you know? You just need to walk into its cave, kill its cubs, and wham! You're awake and ready for some fun! For a second you had me worried you'd completely gone to the dark side!" He leaned in closer as well, practically touching foreheads with the man he'd just threatened. "Please, I wouldn't waste the effort when we're so close to freedom. But if you're going to kiss me now, do it. The sexual tension in here can't get any thicker I _know_ you can't wait to beat me until I'm bruised, isn't that right baby?" His expression was taunting and so _temptingly_ punchable. "Either out of revenge for Harley or just because you know you're sick like me."

"Mr. Crane. Is there a problem?" a guard interrupted, coming up behind Jonathan as a warning. Jonathan scowled, but let his expression settle back into it's usual expressionless stare. "No. Not at all," be replied, letting Joker go and stepping away to face them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have better places to be." Without another word, he walked away from them and Joker.

* * *

 _You should have killed him._

"I should have," Jonathan scoffed, muttering under his breath as he sat alone for the exercise period. "Oh, but it would be too quick for the likes of him, wouldn't it?"

 _Most definitely. He doesn't have the right to speak to you like that. To_ threaten _you._

Crane scowled under his breath, staring across the yard and where Joker sat, laughing and taunting and the like. Anger was still very much prominent within him, burning with a need to enact some sort of retribution on the clown.

 _You know you aren't one to sit by and just let the man make threats. He needs to remember that you're still a force to be reckoned with. You're a cruel, heartless man who cannot be bound by the pitiful concept of family and—_

"Hiya Dr. Crane!" Harley chirped with a wave, passing by on her way to talk to another female inmate.

Jonathan paused, looking up in vague surprise before giving a kind wave back. "Why good evening, child," he greeted with a smile, watching her turn and dash off. "Now… where were we?"

 _Oh forget it._ _I'm not in the mood anymore._

The doctor blinked, brow furrowed, but didn't argue any further as he simply decided it was time to stop brooding.

"Stewing by yourself again, you dirty old Hare?" Jervis hummed pleasantly as he approached, sitting at the table across from Jonathan and folding his hands on the chilled tables. "Oh this weather of yours. It's so cold in Wonderland today! Everywhere in America is rather extreme. Too hot or too cold or has earthquakes or hit by hurricanes. Oh I don't understand how you can stand it!"

"Please, you think I'm used to this? I grew up in the south," Jonathan muttered, turning his eyes to Jervis. He regretted it almost instantly; the man's eyes held a dedication and warmth unlike he'd ever seen, and oh did it make him quite uncomfortable. He swallowed, keeping his mouth shut whilst Jervis looked upon him as though he was… _Alice_. He was disgusted at the very thought of it. "Like you're one to complain. You're far thicker than I am. The only thing keeping me warm is this uniform."

Jervis looked down at his hands, opening and closing one since the other hurt too much to be used at all. What sick things a man's mind can do when turned against itself. Crane had seen it countless times before. Tetch quickly brightened, looked rather ashamed of himself. "Oh dear, you're quite right! Here I am complaining about myself why you're practically as defenseless as a baby mome rath!" He looked over the larger man, as if assessing his size. "Perhaps I should make you a coat! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Jonathan looked at the long sleeves of his uniform, grimacing. "I'm fine," he told him. "Make yourself something. Perhaps a hat to cover that head of yours."

Jervis quickly grasped the top of his head with wide eyes, as if only just then realizing he didn't have a hat. Quickly his expression fell into one of dismay. "Oh what a miserable hatter I am!" he pouted, he face falling into his arms. "I can't even provide myself with a hat!" Like the fluctuating man he was, he was soon back to life with a smile on his face. "That reminds me! I made a hat for you a little while back, if memory serves," he hummed cheerily. "Whatever did you do with the dear thing?"

It was in the trash, if his memory hadn't failed him, but he wouldn't tell the Hatter that. "I'm not quite sure," Crane lied with ease. "The guards must have confiscated it when they realized you weren't on your medication."

Jervis looked distraught, almost angry for a second, a look that Jonathan still found himself unable to get used to. He much preferred the lively, cheerful Jervis as opposed to the unpredictable and unstable hate-filled Hatter. "What scoundrels, the lot of them," Jervis muttered, tossing a glare over to a few of the guards. "Quite uncivil of them to sit down without being invited, don't you think?" Oh he had definitely lost it. If Jonathan was assessing correctly, Jervis had to have been off of his medication for at least a week, that being the full week that Jervis had spent in Solitary confinement. Even still, he continued to remain silent, hoping Jervis would pass him by. Once he was on his medication, he would start acting normal once more. None of this endless infatuation that was suddenly being pushed onto him. There were a lot of things he could handle, but having Jervis Mad-as-a-Hatter Tetch on his tail was something he didn't think he could— nor did he ever want to be able to —handle on his own. Just the thought of Jervis looking and fawning over him as if he were someone meant to be treasured made him physically ill. He had guessed that Jervis might be a little curious with his sexuality what with all the flirty references to the Batman, but he'd never expected him to be as attached to a man as he always had been with an Alice. Then again, Tetch _was_ pretty off his rocker at the moment. It would have just been less weird had Tetch gone after the dead body of Lewis Carroll instead of a man he called a friend.

"Hare."

Jonathan's eyes flicked up, meeting the reverie-filled gaze of the Hatter. If Crane could still feel fear, that would be a look he'd only see again in his nightmares. It felt so out of place, it was almost surreal in a way. A part of him felt as though he were in the midst of some gigantic prank on him in some horrible lifetime movie or terrible piece of fiction only found on the internet. Despite all of this running through his head, he cleared his throat, and responded with a polite "Yes?"

Jervis smiled brightly, as if just having his attention back brought a bit of sunlight back into his Wonderland. The question that came next, however, was quite unexpected. "Why haven't you killed me?"

"Pardon?"

"You were so cross with me back in the visiting room," Jervis reminded him. "You tried to kill me! Strangle me, in fact. And yet, here we are, having a civil conversation. What happened in between then and now?"

This must have been a topic that was on Tetch's mind a lot, or else he wouldn't have brought it up as quickly as he did. However, not one to leave the man without answered, he decided to go ahead and respond. "I… simply don't want to anymore," Jonathan began steadily, choosing words meticulously so he wouldn't end up nudging the Hatter closer to the edge. It was an answer that seemed to please Jervis, who brightened at the idea of Jonathan not wanting to hurt him. However, his tone became far more serious as he continued. "May I… discuss something with you?"

Jonathan quirked a brow, figuring nothing too upsetting could come from this. "By all means. Go ahead," he spoke simply. "I'm all ears. What would you like to discuss?"

Jervis swallowed, appearing bashful as he tried to approach the subject as delicately as possible. "I… want to discuss the road trip."

Ah damn. Jonathan voiced no such protest, gesturing for Jervis continue. "Go on," he spoke, not at all curious as to where this would lead. Tetch could be quite sentimental, what with his easily-attached and even _affectionate_ nature, but Jonathan would have preferred that the smaller man lay them on anyone else _but_ him.

Tetch let their gazes meet once more, hiding a smile as he was suddenly self-conscious of that overbite of his. Oh how everything about you seemed to get significantly uglier when under the judgmental gaze of the one you adore. "I think a lot about our time when it was simply you and I," he continued, a fond tone in his voice that expressed the genuine nature of his words. "More often than I should, if I'm to be completely honest. You fill my thoughts as I know I fill yours." He smiled down at his wounded hand, a thumb gently rubbing over the bandages. "I… want you to know that the experiences I shared with you are unlike any I've shared with another."

Jervis peered up at Jonathan at this point, smiling when he realized the other was still attentively listening to him. Crane said nothing that would interrupt his spiel, allowing him to finish. "Yes, I know, we've had our rather _nasty_ incidents and falling outs, but… if Time could allow me to go back, I wouldn't have stopped us from ever going on that trip." A paused, his smile sheepish. "I know I know, it's quite easy for me to say when I haven't been speared through by my own weapon of choice, but I genuinely mean it. I got to hear you laugh and relax and speak your mind. I got to see you happy for once, and Hare, it means more to me than you could realize." He had to pause there, rethinking his words. "Or… maybe you do. After all, you know me quite better than anyone, don't you?" He closed his eyes and smiled fondly up at his friend. "You listen to me, and you understand me, and you talk to me and even when I've gone absolutely mad, you actually care about me. Maybe not as much as I care about you, but I know you feel something behind that mask of yours."

Jervis let his gaze rest upon the other man once more, and in that moment, the frigid wind finally hit him. He didn't like that face Jonathan was making. It was almost as cold as the wind itself, and a deep, penetrating stare that caused Jervis to squirm slightly in his seat. Even still, he continued on. "I… I feel as though— no, I _know_ there is something between you and I. Something like I once believed Alice and I had. And I know you feel it, too. I know you don't feel this way with anyone else, and I—"

"Jervis."

Tetch stopped mid-sentence, his mouth forced shut at Jonathan's rigid and curt tone. He swallowed as Jonathan slowly leaned forward in his seat, that stiff expression only seeming to get more unpleasant. With a scathing tone that had Jervis shrinking back, he said, " _Never_ tell me what I am

supposed to feel."

He motioned to get up from his seat, and in that moment, the Hatter felt a welling sense of terror within his chest at the thought of ending it like this. With a sudden burst of courage, he suddenly reached forward, taking Jonathan's hand into his two. The look Crane gave him nearly caused him to drop the hand out of fright. He wasn't being strangled, so that was a start. Almost without thinking, the words had left his mouth.

"I love you."

Jonathan stared blankly at Jervis, silent for the longest time as some form of torture to the smaller, infatuated individual.

"Jervis. You don't know what you're talking about."

Jerking his hand away from Jervis, Jonathan turned around and walked away without another word, leaving the poor Hatter alone once more.

* * *

"Jervis?"

The Hatter didn't respond. He couldn't, what with all the thoughts running through his head. He felt wound up tighter than a VHS, thoughts racing and heart pounding. This was just like Alice all over again; rejected, thrown away, tossed aside and ignored as if he were _nothing_. As if his feelings didn't _matter_ and his thoughts weren't _valid_ enough for him. Because he was _sick_ and _delusional_ and everything in between. He left him, as if he didn't even care. To top it all off the Hatter couldn't do anything. He didn't have hats or control cards or a pocket watch at his disposal, nor was he able to have someone strangle the man as he always would have with the girls. Not that he wanted to anyways, but that was simply a knee-jerk response for him. He got angry, he got flustered, and when he didn't know what to do, all that stress would build up inside of him. His mind ran like a clock on high speed, circling and circling the same twelve thoughts over and over again, filling his head with tension and panic.

"Mr. Tetch?"

He felt as though his head had been pressurized with all the thoughts that swam around within it. Voices chattered and spoke and whispered their ugly suggestions, and once more the Hatter found himself biting into bloody teacups just to escape the mental pressure that was his head. Oh it was _maddening_ how his thought would not, _could not,_ escape the man he'd just spilled out his deepest feelings to. Pain, anger, humiliation, sadness; all these emotions stewed inside of him, bubbling in a toxic concoction that would only continue to poison his mind the further he listened to those dangerous thoughts. He was simply frustrated at himself that these emotions just wouldn't dissipate, only further staining the poor thoughts within his head.

Jervis' soul nearly jolted out of his body when he felt a hard smack on his arm, causing him to reel back in shock from the sudden shock to the senses. He stared, eyes wide full of tears as Dr. Picard looked at him with a both stern and worried expression. "Stop that!" he damn near shouted, pointing an accusing finger to Jervis' now damaged hand. Deep bites had been left in his hand, a bit of self-harm caused by the overwhelming pressure in Jervis' head. "Look at what you're doing to yourself!" Tetch couldn't focus on anything the doctor was saying. He needed to get out, and fast. He nearly stumbled out of his own chair, looking around wildly for the door, only to realize he was in such a small office. Heart pounding, that fight or flight response was triggering within his mind as he realized he couldn't escape. Doors were undoubtedly locked and it's not like he had anywhere to go. His heart beating several hundred kilometers per hour, he was near tears.

Dr. Picard must have realized he was having a hard time, as he quickly gestured to the chair. "Jervis, I need you to calm down. I just want to talk," he said softly, voice steady as he sat back down in his chair. "You're having a rough time. I need to understand why."

Jervis was unable to respond, his heart still racing around as all he wanted was to get out of there.

"Jervis, what's wrong?" Picard asked, and it was in that moment that something collapsed within Jervis. Sadness became the dominate emotion, his eyes bricking from tears as sobs threatened to choke him. An answer spiller out in broken whispers, an answer his own mind struggled to even process. "He doesn't love me."

Picard went silent, brow furrowed in obvious confusion. Of course he wouldn't know. How could he know? People who don't think shouldn't talk! And yet, Picard still tried to salvage what little bit of the situation he could manage. "That sounds awful," he sympathized, words that went unheard from under the beating of the Hatter's heart. "You must feel terrible. Why don't you have a seat." Hatter felt anger slowly rising at the man's grating tone; speaking to him as if he were some type of child that needed to be talked to in slowed phrases just so he could understand him. It aggravated the Hatter to no end.

Picard looked to the side, a panicked expression crossing his face as he attempted to think back to the one tip Harley had given him as soon as he realized Jervis wasn't going to calm down. "You must feel feel left out," Picard spoke. "After all, '' _tis love that makes the world go round'_ , as the Hatter says."

Hatter stilled at the quote, all emotions vanishing for a moment as listened. It took a moment or two to completely comprehend what had just been said. His stare hardened with a look that Picard thought might just kill. He was nearly shaking with how much anger was building up inside of him, all previous emotions still there and only fueling the internal turmoil he suffered.

"You… _absolute_ … _IDIOT!_ " he shouted at the top pf his lungs, damn near scaring Picard out of his seat. Over the few months of treating him, never had he had Jervis yell at him like that before. " _THAT IS A QUOTE FROM THE DUCHESS, NOT THE HATTER!"_ Tears were streaming down his face as he was screaming at his point, unable to get a grip on his own emotions. Every forced word was like running a cheese grater on his throat with how much his throat wasn't used to the high volume. He came even closer to the desk, eyes blurred with tears and his heart pounding with a need to release the pressure in his head. " _DO YOU EVEN CARE TO LEARN AN IOTA ABOUT YOUR PATIENTS BEFORE YOU SPILL WHATEVER POPPYCOCK COMES FROM YOUR MOUTH?!"_

Picard stood up, pressing a button under his desk to alert the guards before slowly approaching Jervis. "Tetch, I need you to calm down," he ordered, holding out a steady hand as he came closer.

A switch flipped inside Jervis, his screaming turning to a defensive, trembling stutter as he realized Picard was closing the distance between them. "N-n-no," he begged in a strained voice. "Don't come near me." When this failed to ward off the man, Jervis instinctively grabbed a pen from the pencil holder, backing away into a corner with wide eyes. "No, d-don't touch me!" he demanded, all routes of escape gone as he searched around desperately for any sort of salvation.

"Jervis, I'm just trying to help you," the doctor assured him. His hand came too close. Jervis felt trapped as unintelligible, guttural babbles spilled from him, tears running down his face. When he felt his arm touched, that fight or flight response finally went into full effect.

With a cry of desperation, Tetch jerked the pen upwards, stabbing the man directly in the neck. The doctor grabbed at his throat in shock, but Jervis was unable to be hindered by surprise at this point. He could only really react. He shoved the pen into the taller man's stomach as hard as he could muster, doing it repeatedly as his hands were stained in hot, viscera. Several times turned into dozens and soon over a hundred times as he just kept beating and stabbing him in pure emotional frustration. It wasn't until the pen physically shattered in his hand that he finally realized that they were both on the floor. Confusion swirled in his mind at the ever-growing puddle of blood that was forming beneath him, soaking into the coarse carpet and turning its once beige color into red. Voices swirled in his mind, talking and talking and _talking_ until he let out a frustrated shriek and jammed the pen shards into the man's chest. Confused and barely cognizant of what was going on, he covered his ears, not minding the warm red gunk that got trapped in locks of messy blonde hair as he just tried to get the voices to shut up.

Letting out a startled gasp, he stumbled back when the door burst open and a gun was aimed at his head. At this point Jervis was simply unable to understand what was going on as the shouts of the guards blurred in his ears. He muttered out incoherent babbles of noises as he simply tried to get a grasp on his own mind. His senses were flooded with the blaring alarms from the ceiling, indicating some type of emergency. He was held in place in the line of the gun, covering his face in humiliation and a swell of other toxic emotions as the world blurred around him.

Without warning, the lights suddenly flickered as a rumble shook the entirety of the Asylum. A loud, almost deafening explosion moved through the entire facility, shaking to the point where Jervis and the guard who was holding him up stumbled to the ground. Tetch looked up, confused, and before he could even say anything, all the lights to the Asylum flickered once, before going out completely. More explosions could be heard all throughout the asylum, though not nearly as loud as the initial one. Within seconds after, the emergency backup light came on, bathing everyone in a pool of dim red light.

It was showtime.


	6. Showtime

As soon as the alarms blared, every inmate in Arkham Asylum was quickly rushed to their cell, as was protocol. The last thing anyone needed was another mass breakout on their hands. Inmates complained and ranted, with some even struggling due to the alarm freaking them out. However, everyone was taken in within five minutes under the threat of harsh punishment, as well as it being after the last exercise period.

Poison Ivy waited for those five minutes to be over, keeping watch a ways away from the Asylum. Watchtower guards failed to see any trace of her due to them being "compromised" by Lazlo. She pointed to the wall, looking over at the guard that was under her control. "I've pulled out a gas pipe near that wall over there," she ordered. "Use Firefly's lighter to light the pipe." The officer nodded, eyes gleaned over with a want and need to serve her while still giving off that blank, trance-induced stare. He pulled out the lighter, about to do the job, when Ivy snapped her fingers. He turned to see her hand held out expectantly. "Give me your phone first," she commanded, watching him pull out his phone and hand it over silently. She turned it on, revealing a lock screen requiring four digits. "Passcode?" she demanded. He was quick to give away the code: "1234." She looked up at him with the most deadpan look she could muster. Somewhere in that hazy mind of his, he would be able to process her infinite contempt for his existence. However, she said nothing and waved him away, typing in the code and going to the camera app. As the enchanted officer moved to the pipe, Ivy, she held the phone sideways and started recording a video.

All it took was one little spark and the gas pipe was alight. Flames shot through the tube, fed by the natural gas that powered it to move through the entire gas system of Arkham. Pipes burst, ovens and stoves in the kitchens practically exploded, gas heaters were blown to pieces, but by far the biggest explosion was sourced in the utilities room, which practically had an entire day's worth of gas leaking within its closed off area. The moment the flame hit, the room detonated in an ear-piercing and earth-shaking explosion. Pillars of smoke erupted into the air not unlike a volcano as the wall gave out and the floor above it gave way. As Firefly had promised, the damage had only been done to most of the basement floor and some of the thick ceiling above it; Arkham was still standing from the contained explosion.

Ivy continued for just a moment longer before tucking the phone away. "Well, this is going to be easy," she chuckled, moving towards the damaged Arkham.

* * *

The lights went off for about half a minute before the emergency lights came on, bathing the rooms and halls in a pool of red. As coded by Riddler, each door to the cells slid open automatically. There was beat of silence, just for a moment for the guards to process what had just happened and the inmates to check outside their cells, before Anarky moved out of his door, stuck his index finger and thumb into his mouth, and blew a sharp whistle that pierced the air.

The reaction was immediate. Inmates quickly overtook the guards, not killing them, but instead taking their weapons and such and overpowering them. The riot traveled outward until the entire asylum was lit with the chaos, just as Blackfire and Anarky had planned.

Professor Pyg found no time for the riot. Once those doors were open, he knew his destination, leaving his cellmate in initial confusion. "That's the wrong direction, Piggy!" Zsasz snapped after pulling a pocketknife from a guard, but there was no stopping the professor. Lazlo dipped between and around struggling guards and inmates, quickly grabbing a keycard from a fallen officer that he used to grant himself access to the stairwell, bringing himself down the to basement. The basement itself was a complete and utter disaster. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burnt natural gas. Debris had found itself scattered even to the door of the stairwell, and the cracks and chunks missing from walls and doors showed just how damaging the explosion had been. He quickly made his way to the storage room, passing over chunks of ceiling from where that section of the first floor had given out. Shattered glass and broken metal that had once blocked off two of the most dangerous inmates in Arkham were scattered around, with said criminals being long gone save for the destruction they had left in their wake.

Quickly finding the storage room, Pyg used his keycard to get himself in. Crates lines the warehouse-like room, each labeled with a code, a warning, and the usage. His eyes scanned the room until they recognized a large crate labeled "Rogue Attire." He nearly squealed in delight, rushing over and tearing open the box to reveal smaller cardboard boxes that held the many alter egos of his fellow inmates. He carelessly tossed aside Harley's costume, brushing away Joker's iconic suit, pulling out and tossing Scarecrow's damaged costume and Anarky's mask, up until he found a small box labeled "Lazlo Valentine AKA Professor Pyg". He opened the tiny box to reveal his lovely ceramic half mask. He tore off the cloth Jervis had given him and placed the mask atop his head, shielding the top portion of his face and once again making Lazlo Valentine the Pyg that he was. He was about to leave to make a dash for the exit, when he noticed one of the boxes he had tossed aside. "Jervis Tetch AKA Mad Hatter" was clearly printed on the side. Something clicked within Pyg as he quickly retrieved the fancy attire from inside and rushed out just as Lonnie and Garfield were making their way in.

Zsasz had been almost near the exit when Lazlo suddenly rushed past him, once again going in the wrong direction with a bundle in his arms. "Pyg! Wrong way!" he shouted after the man, and yet they fell on deaf ears. Anger was not innate to the murderer, and so he simply smirked and followed after. It was surprise a man of Pyg's size could move that quickly, but within moments, he was in the medical ward. Guards were strewn left and right, struggling with the inmates that had started the riot. Pyg searched for a brief moment until he saw Jervis Tetch stumble out of the office, uniform bloody and eyes hazed with clear fear and a lack of lucidity. He fell to the ground in confused terror as a guard followed after, keeping a rather large weapon trained on the man without wavering.

The guard heard a small whistle behind him, and it only took him a quick turn of his head before he was riddled with bullets from a handgun held aloft in Scarface's hands. "Not today, ya pigs!" the gangster laughed, gun swinging around from the movements of his laughter. Arnold Wesker, in turn, took a step back when Pyg looked at the killer im surprise, pointing to Scarface with his free hand to place the blame on the small ventriloquist dummy. Jervis seemed absolutely befuddled when more blood was on him, a mess of confusion and tears and unintelligible babbling. However, this mattered not to Pyg as he was simply thrilled to see his friend alive. "Hatman!" he practically squealed, picking Jervis with up in ease. His time as a surgeon taught him how to treat ill patients well, as he tried to make Tetch comfortable. Jervis, still in his meltdown, instinctually began struggling and attacking his friend, but these petty slaps and hits were too weak to really matter due to wasting most of his energy on Picard. Jervis quickly found his arms full of the costume he'd grown so fond of wearing in his escapades outside of Arkham's walls. Once he saw the hat, he hurriedly put the article atop his head before almost completely shutting down, tuning out to the outside world as he simply touched the rim of his hat for some sense of comfort. Viktor Zsasz had only just run up, slowing to a walk when he noticed that Scarface had taken power over any immediate dander amidst the chaos, much to his envy. Pyg was just about to mention to Zsasz and Scarface that they bail, when they found another gun pointed at them.

"Don't even try it," Cash warned, his weapon trained on the most deadly of the three rogues. Even in his bloodlust-fueled state, Zsasz was able to tell the man would fire before he even got a foot forward. Cash was not a man to be messed with. Fear seized the two schizophrenics, but Zsasz remained eerily calm while Scarface had his finger worryingly close to the trigger. "Drop the knife, psycho," Cash ordered amidst the flurry of a fight around them. As much as the other inmates fighting around them were a threat, it would be hell on Earth should the four/five at gunpoint find their escape that night, and Cash was ready to do his duty. How would he get all of them back in this frenzy? He didn't quite know, but he would damn well try.

That's when Zsasz's eyes widened in slow surprise. Eyes trailing up, he blinked at the sight of _something_ behind Cash. "Oh dear…" he murmured, staring up at this _huge_ something, that obviously could tower over the guard. Cash's thoughts turned to dread when, knowing his luck, he realized only one inmate could be that massive. His amputated wrist stung at the awful memories of sharp teeth tearing through bone and flesh. However, he wasn't afraid of Croc; not anymore. With a quick spin around, he raised his gun to point directly at—

Nothing? He blinked in wild surprise. The space that was supposed to be Killer Croc was vacant. It took only a second to process what had just happened before he shot his head back towards Pyg, Wesker, and Zsasz, who had obviously bolted when he had turned his head around. "Damn it!" he near screamed, running after the three.

Zsasz and Pyg were sprinting down the hall with the older Wesker trailing just behind them and Scarface yelling demands to run faster. "There's a copter on the roof!" Scarface shouted to them. "Once we lose the copper, we're goin' up there!" As surprisingly spry as Pyg could be despite his size, having Tetch in his arms was certainly slowing him down. Cash would catch up to them at this rate and Zsasz and Scarface had no qualms about leaving them in the dust. Valentin made the decision that it was better for one to get caught than both, but he wasn't about to leave his friend unattended. His eyes caught Harley Quinn and Baby Doll just up ahead, and with that he stopped abruptly beside them. "HERE!" he shouted, handing Jervis to a surprised Harleen before bolting after Zsasz and Arnold.

Harley pressed her back to the wall, making way for Cash to burst out of the riot and dash after the two wanted men who were now going much faster given the lesser load. She watched the five disappear behind the corner before looking down at Jervis, who looked too tired to even function save for holding his balled up clothing in his arms. She looked down at Mary, who just shrugged and began skipping her way to the stairwell. Harley just smiled and followed suit, her fit body perfectly able to carry the smaller villain as they moved downstairs. The walls of the stairway were covered in a dusty and mushy coating while both doors had been torn off, no doubt thanks to Croc and Clayface moving upstairs.

Both girls made it to the storage room, with Harley nearly squealing in delight at the sight of green skin and red hair. "Red!"

"Harley!" Ivy sighed in relief upon hearing her voice, meeting her halfway across the room to quickly give her a hug. "Are you alright?" she softly asked, looking over her, before spotting Jervis in her arms. "Why are you holding Tetch?"

Harley just shrugged. "I dunno," she responded. "Lazzy gave him to me! So I'm just carrying him around." Ivy decided to just take that explanation and run with it; there was no point in arguing with the nonsense of Harleen at a time like this.

"How're we gonna get outta here?" Mary suddenly asked from down below. Going over the bridge was practically suicide seeing how hard it would be to actually steal a van and get out of there given their uniforms and every guard having memorized their appearances. Ivy had the answer ready without question, jerking a thumb back to Garfield Lynns digging through a particularly large crate labeled "Firefly Gear". Lynns was too deep in his own box, already fitting on his flame retardant suit, to realize they were referring to him. He was getting on that large metal jetpack, wings folded down for ease of walking, when he heard Baby Doll cry "Kitty!" He looked down to see Mary trotting over with a huge grin on her face. "You're gonna get us outta here!" she piped up once more, engendering a series of laughs from the pyromaniac.

"Says who?" he scoffed, eyeing Ivy from a ways away. "Her? I don't think so." He sat down to fit on the boots and leg braces, grinning up at them. "You think I'm gonna fly all three— no, four of you off this place? Forget it." Of course Firefly was at more of an advantage than most other Rogues. Unlike his peers and even Batman himself, he could fly freely given his equipment and enough fuel. He glanced up to see Poison Ivy's expression scrunched in annoyance. "I mean, Harley? Sure. Baby? She still owes me that cookie, but yeah. I'd even fly Jerv offa this place. But Ivy? Babe, I want some of those plants you've been smoking."

Without so much as waiting a beat, Ivy pulled out the phone she had taken from the guard when she had blown utilities room. She then presented it to Garfield. "I recorded the whole explosion on this phone. Fly us all to the mainland and I'll gladly hand it over."

Lynns stared at the phone for a good few seconds before quickly hopping to his feet. "Alright, everybody," he began, "welcome aboard Flight Firefly! Destination? The fuck outta here." Harley let her grin show while Baby Doll clapped excitedly, going over to retrieve her doll from one of the many crates. Ivy just rolled her eyes and looked away, just glad so long as they got off the island in one piece.

"First thing's first," Garfield paused, reaching into the crate one last time to pull out his iconic homemade flamethrower that was attached to his jetpack by a fuel tube. "Ohh ho baby, how I've missed you!" he hummed, kissing the nozzle much to Ivy's disgust and Harley's amusement. When Harley frowned at Ivy's distaste, the plant woman merely said, "What? I just think it's weird for a man to like fire that much."

Ignoring the hypocrisy from the plant-loving woman, Garfield gave an offended expression as he hugged the flamethrower close to his body. "Shh, baby," he whispered to the weapon, "she didn't mean it. She doesn't know what she's talking about." He burst into immature laughter at her unamused expression before hooking the flamethrower onto his belt. "Alright, ladies, we need to get to the roof," he ordered, now becoming serious. "That's the best place to take off without interruptions or getting shot."

The three three women nodded and before long they were making their way to the stairs. As much as the elevator would have been nice, it was unfortunately inaccessible due to the emergency power only applying to the lights. Arkham was a big building, best believe, but the adrenaline helped them scale the stairs faster than it was thought possible. Harley, dedicated to holding Jervis, was growing tired, but she still trudged on.

They had finally made it to the top floor in minutes, but soon found themselves at the wrong end of a couple well-aimed guns. Firefly had his weapon raised just as fast, a cocky smile spread across his marred face, daring them to take the shots. Ivy and Harley were frozen in their tracks, while Baby had been just barely small enough to duck back into the stairwell without notice.

"Look boys," Garfield hummed, "either you can just let us go and keep your lives, or you can take the shots and risk all of you being burnt to death, and believe me, it's far worse than you may think it is."

One officer in particular wasn't having in, responding in a biting tone, "Cut the shit, Lynns. There's nothing in that flamethrower. You think we'd actually put your jetpack away with a tank full of fuel?"

Firefly's expression only beamed with confidence as he placed a hand on the fuel latch that would let loose the torrent of flames. "Do you really want to take the chance?"

Harley looked back into the stairwell, face scrunched in worry as she gazed back at Garfield. "Firefly…" she whispered, slowly moving over to him and nudging his arm. Firefly's expression wavered before falling into one that may be considered defeat. Harley moved a hand to take the heavy flamethrower from his hand before he did anything that he may regret.

It seemed as though the villains might actually give in for a change, choosing a more sensible route instead of attempting a deadly escape. This time, their breakout attempt had actually failed, and all three had finally figured out when to call it quits after so many failed attempts.

Well, this was the thought, up until a gunshot rang out and a guard yelled in pain, subsequently falling to the ground due to the bullet embedded into his leg. The other guard was stunned, unsure of where the bullet had come from. "Oops! I didn't mean to!" came a sing song voice from down below, but before anyone could react, Harley had already shoved the groaning Jervis into Garfield's arms and taken the flamethrower, detaching the fuel tube from the jetpack. Like an olympian would with a ball and chain, Harley dropped the flamethrower, held it by the tube, and swung the weapon with enough force until it came crashing into the second guard and knocked him over. With little hesitation, she turned to the three and just said, "Run."

Inmates ducked out of the way as the four rogues sprinted down the hall, with the fifth one bouncing up and down in Garfield's arms. Jervis let out a sick groan, and for a moment, Lynns was a bit scared the older man would blow chunks on him.

"There's an emergency generator on top of the roof," Ivy told Firefly, who was glad he worked out so much because damn Jervis was heavier than he looked, "we should be able to find some fuel up there."

He simply nodded, looking back to notice Baby Doll trailing behind by a considerable amount. He realized that he would have to carry her, too, and before long, he realized he would have to carry all four off the island. While his Jetpack was enough to carry the weight of Batman, he doubted it would be enough to carry the five of them, and so, he made an executive decision.

Deacon Blackfire had only just managed to get on his robes when Ivy and Harley zoomed past. Garfield slid to a halt just before him. "You do charity work, right?" the younger man panted from behind the helmet. "Help a man out." He shoved Jervis into the faux pastor's hands before once more booking it, an officer chasing after a good hundred feet behind. Blackfire raised his brow, looking down at Jervis questioningly as Anarky quickly showed up after retrieving his mask.

"Hey!" Lonnie called, noticing him by the wall. "Come on, I grabbed the keys. Let's—" He paused, looking at the Hatter with a confused gaze under his mask. He gestured to him, but Blackfire only shrugged in response. Anarky just shook his head and gestured for the deacon to follow as they traversed through the halls, ducking through less traveled paths to as to not be seen by anyone.

Getting into the asylum's employee garage was easy, but traveling there was not. With the power shut off, many of the powered doors required to be opened manually with the right keys. That left Joseph to stand back whilst waiting for the other to fumble with a ring of similar looking keys. Everything was either bronze or silver and it was becoming more and more frustrating as the chaos increased around them. Anarky was nearly hit by a tossed inmate had it not been for a quick warning from his current partner. Blackfire looked back at the culprit, soon met with the barrel of a handgun aimed directly at his head.

"Lucky me," the officer breathed, the edges of his lips upturning in a fashion you wouldn't want to see from a cop. "Three of the freaks in one area?"

Anarky stopped his fiddling to spin around step away from the door. The wanted was a reason for the cop to shoot them, and yet it seemed the action was pointless, given the man of authority stepped right up to the priest and his passenger, bringing the barrel of the pistol up to the older man's head. "I should just end all three of you right here. I'd be doing everyone a service."

Jervis sounded visibly distressed at the noise, burying his face into Blackfire's robes to try and block out the invading light. The faux deacon was visibly alarmed, but didn't move away from the gun. Despite death being at his head, he feared no evil. Even when the cocking of the barrel was heard.

"STOP!" Deacon was pushed out of the way by Anarky who jabbed a finger into the officer's chest and slid up his mask so he could look at the crooked man face to face; the guard in question took a noticeable step back at the audacity. " _You_ ," Lonnie spat. "It's people like _you_ that make us who we are. Fucking bacon bitch— you and people like you should be behind bars for the rest of your life for abusing your power."

As the anarchist ranted, the cop looked to the side a bit awkwardly. "Uh, Machin?" But the activist wasn't done yet.

"You people wonder why we don't get better? It's because we have people like _you_ in power! Every cop in this institution should be locked up for their crimes. And—"

"Lonnie."

"—Don't interrupt me! I refuse to be another statistic whilst the general public refuses to prosecute people like you. I—"

"Lonnie. It's me," the guard chuckled, as if humored by the rant as he lowered the arm with his weapon. "I was just fucking with you guys." Lonnie stared at him blankly, mind in a frazzle trying to understand what that was supposed to mean. And then it clicked.

"Wait. _Clayface?_ " he snapped, brow shooting up in realization. Karlo obviously found this to be hysterical as he began to roar with laughter, the red overhead lights beginning to show the slowly liquidizing texture of the guard's hat. "You. Asshole!" Lonnie groaned, giving the shapeshifter a hard punch in the gut, only for his hand to sink into the other's body with ease. Machin's deadpan look appeared just in time to contrast with the tearful laughter from Karlo.

"Well it's a good thing you're here," Deacon butted in to break the tension, arms growing tired as he strained to keep the neurologist in his arms. "Do you think you'll be able to sneak us out of here? Lonnie already has the keys out of here and to one of the vans. Our only problem is getting in there without drawing suspicion."

Karlo rubbed his chin, visibly interested. "Yeah, I think I can help at least two of you," he reasoned. "However, I don't think I'll be able to help Jervis. He's a bit of dead weight." The other two criminals looked at Jervis before looking at one another, an expression that clearly asked "Well what are we supposed to do with him?" Karlo just smirked, his arms already beginning to stretch unbelievably long. "Don't worry, I saw Ed in the records room when I was walking over. I got this." His long arms grabbed onto Jervis, taking him from the Deacon's arms and starting to move him down the hall, only using his continuously stretching arms to move him.

Guards and inmates alike had to quit fighting for several moments to watch in bewilderment as two arms casually rounded the corner whilst holding a curled up Jervis Tetch. Their heads slowly turned to watch it enter a room, where Edward was digging through some records. He had been searching quite fervently, trying to find what he was looking for. When he finally found it, he could only scan two lines before being tapped on the back. He turned, and soon Jervis was dumped into his arms, forcing him to watch the arms snake back out of the door and back around the corner, while Karlo smiled at the two awkwardly staring criminals in front of him. Once his arms were at the acceptable size, he rubbed his hands together. "So, how long can you two hold you breath?"

Ed looked from Jervis to the door to Jervis again and once more back to the door. "Why are you all so weird?" he whispered, shaking his head as he quickly made his way out through a side door. He had already gotten the information he needed and quickly made his way down to the lower floor with the Hatter in his arms. As much as he loathed working with Joker, he found it honestly to be the best option available. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say.

Upon entering the basement floor, he couldn't help but notice the sheer amount of debris and dead guards scattered around the halls. It made running more difficult, sure, but now he had to be extra careful given his unwanted passenger. Luckily for them, he could already hear arguing voices around the corner.

"Scared of a little ice, oh great and powerful master of fear?"

"Driving on ice just doesn't like the best idea, if you ask me."

"Ha! I plan to just book it."

"Oh, and I don't suppose you have a pair of ice cleats, hmm?"

"I do! Have them on me right now."

"What the— where the hell did you get ice cleats?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? Back off, Harv! I can see that gleam in your eye; these babies are all mine!"

Rounding the corner, Nygma already had a firm look of annoyance clear on his visage before even spotting the trio. "Working with madmen isn't my usual modus operandi, but I suppose I have no choice now do I?" he sighed loudly, successfully reeling the attention of Crane, Joker, and Two-Face. Only Joker was the only one in his full criminal attire, being the showman he was. Crane looked irritated more than anything, but that was just Crane when he was under-informed.

The three were quick to notice Jervis in the Prince of Puzzles' arms, all lighting up in varying ranges of surprise. "Well well! Looks like Eddie here isn't as heartless as I once thought!" Joker teased, pinching Edward's cheek with a snicker.

Riddler opened his mouth to snap back, but had to pause. Did he lie and confirm that he, the Riddler, had gone back to save a man merely considered an known acquaintance at the best of times, or did he tell the truth and make himself look unnecessarily like an asshole for no reason? In the end, he decided not saying anything for once was the better option.

"So, clown," Harvey grunted, "we were talking about Freeze?"

"Ah! Thanks for reminding me big guy," Joker praised, giving the unamused patient a good elbow to the side. "Vickie's stuff is over in the storage room. Either we bring the suit to him or we bring him to the suit."

"If we bring Mr. Fries to the suit," Jonathan mentioned, "we'd approximately four minutes to get him there before he would pass out from heat exhaustion. An even further constraint on our time."

"But the suit is about hundred pounds of metal," Two-Face pointed out. "If I'm carrying something that big and heavy to him, I don't exactly trust you three to protect me from the cops."

"And you think you'll be able to carry Fries faster?" Jonathan asked, a single brow raised in doubt. "He isn't exactly a small man."

"How about we meet in the middle?" Riddler huffed. "Joker and I will help unlock the suit, while Harvey goes to get Freeze." He then heaved Jervis into the unwilling arms of Jonathan, who's twiggy legs nearly folded like an origami swan from the abrupt change in weight. "Jonathan, you can take care of Jervis. You are the psychiatrist after all." Edward ignored the burning look he was getting as he looked to the other two crime bosses for agreement. It was soon settled, Crane was left alone with the curled up Jervis.

He let out the sigh he had been holding, allowing himself to slide down the wall and drop himself into a sitting position. As much as he hated being forced into the position of nanny over a fully grown man, he simply put his anger in the back of his mind as he studied the schizophrenic. Blood had splattered all over the neurologist, some obviously caused by his own actions while other bits of spatter could only be caused by the blowback of a gun. The man was in the middle of a shutdown, that much was obvious; he was actually quite surprised everyone had been willing to use Jervis' fragile mental state as a tool to escape. Harley was usually too empathetic, and while Edward was a selfish man, rarely did his plots rely on such an unpredictable cog in the puzzle. Crane had figured it all out the moment he saw the blood-soaked Hatter, and while he was reluctantly impressed, he couldn't help but glare hatefully into the wall as his mind ran through the possibilities of what Joker would have him do to Tetch had he agreed to the plan.

Jonathan attempted to set Jervis down to give him space, but the other only clung to him like a tired child. It seemed he was the type to want comfort in his shutdown rather than push it away. Crane _loathed_ being touched without his consent, but he figured this was the only real option that didn't involve dumping the crumpet in the hall and going to see if Harleen would lend him a ride.

"Jervis…" he spoke softly, gently touching Tetch on the arm. "Can you hear me?" To that, he got no response, yet he still tried once more. "Hatter, can you hear me?" It was with this second variation that the Hatter moved some, responding positively to the name of his alter ego.

"Mm, Hare?" the smaller man groaned, looking a little worse for ware after being jostled around so much in so little time. A hand left his bundle of clothes to hold his stomach. "I believe I may be sick all over the floor in a few moments…"

"Mmm, there would be some merit in perhaps _not_ doing that while you're in my arms," Jonathan suggested, allowing Jervis to sit up in his lap while he rubbed his back.

Hatter looked around, his hands fiddling with the rim of his hat to bring himself some form of comfort. "Are we in the Red Queen's dungeon?" he mumbled, brow furrowed, staring up at the crimson-tinted emergency lights. "Why is everything so… reddish?" He seemed to lose his own train of thought as he dropped his head down to stare at hands caked with dried blood. He looked disgusted with himself, but only because he was so dirtied. "Clean cup, clean cup, move down," he murmured weakly, trying to untangle his dress shirt from his the ball of clothing. He visibly struggled in his groggy state, adding to his growing frustration until Jonathan came to help him. He pulled the dress shirt and coat from the bottoms and shoes, delicately picking out the bowtie and handing it over while Jervis was tugging off his shirt. The milliner tried his best to get as much grime off of him as he could so he wouldn't soil the fabric, but still tugged it on fast enough for a few spots to show. As Jervis was about to put on his trousers, he paused, a light red dusting his cheeks. Jonathan was quick to catch on.

"I've seen you naked before in the showers," Crane sighed, crossing his arms. "This isn't any different."

"It is," Jervis argued weakly, "because now you can't be distracted by the abhorrent nature of Firefly or Joker's bodies." Jonathan saw that there was no real point in arguing and purposefully looked away for a good minute or so before Hatter was done.

Hatter brung himself closer to Crane, lying back on the wall and letting out an exhausted sigh and rubbing a tired eye with his wrist. "Oh dear," he murmured, seemingly only now noticing all the debris scattered about. "It appears I've woken up in the midst of a great galumphing of Wonderland's beasts, haven't I?" He looked up at Crane, letting a weak smile cross his face. He had only been turned down as delusional hours ago by Jonathan, and yet he smiled softly at him with the same fondness as an old friend. Jonathan knew not to take the calm moment for granted, but he had to turn his head away to avoid the stare. That look; he loathed that look. People weren't supposed to look at him like that, and just the frustration of having to see it was almost enough to make him speak out. He suppressed it, however, instead getting up. "Come along. I know where they keep your control cards and pocket watch. They like to keep it separate from your clothing in case of a riot," he instructed, watching his peer rise to his feet, visibly dizzy, but with enough energy to follow after him at a steady pace.

"So, where are my tools of my trade?" Jervis hummed, carefully stepping over chunks of wall.

"Back when I worked here,"Crane explained, approaching a smaller room off to the side, "they had a safe for important documents in what used to be the Warden's room down here. When Clayface, Croc, and Freeze were moved down here easier containment, they moved the office to an upper floor. According to a safety manual Edward had obtained from Arkham's system, the safe is still is still being used to contain the weapons." He opened the door, revealing a small office for one of the psychiatrists that worked with the more dangerous inmates. With the desk and cabinets about, the room looked pretty unsuspecting, but Jonathan knew better. "Now, if I remember correctly…" He surveyed the room, moving over to a pinned up map of Arkham. "A flimsy covering for sure," he mentioned, grabbing the map from the side and ripping it off the wall to reveal a large safe, "but I suppose those who don't know it exists won't look for it." There was only one problem now: where to find the code. He turned around and took one look behind the desk, a his blank expression not letting anything show. "Hatter, friend, would you mind shutting and locking the door?" he requested, placing his hands on the edge of the desk and quickly flipping it over to reveal a cowering doctor. The doctor shrieked in terror, turning to try and scramble for the door, but Jervis had already slammed the door shut and blocked it with his body.

Crane places his foot on the back of the terrified man to stop him there, hands on his hips and lips lifting to a scowl. "Give me the code and perhaps I won't let my friend here show you how we deal with nuisances in Wonderland. Isn't that right, Hatter?" The scientist made the mistake of looking up at the Hatter to see him making the all too familiar gesture of bringing down an axe. The man swallowed shielding his face as he was quick to give in. "Amadeus! The code is Amadeus!" he confessed, thankfully not being able to the the absolute look of annoyance from Crane. "Really?" he scoffed, moving off of him to type in the code in he safe. "A whole decade and you lot haven't changed the password? I should have guessed, but I suppose my hopes were too high." He threw it open to reveal a crowd of infamous weapons belonging to the rogues. He spotted a deck of control cards and the pocket watch immediately extracting them and handing them over to Jervis. "We should get back to Freeze," he murmured, grabbing the door of the safe to shut it. He had to pause, however, when spotting a familiar sight. Hesitant, he looked back to see Jervis was distracted by his card. A thin hand reached in and with it brought out the tightly-knit burlap of his mask. Grin stitched to the cheeks and wide eyes that haunted many denizens of Gotham many times over. He could still see a few speckles of blood from when he had coughed up nearly a cup of his own life source in that unfortunate crash.

 _Look, Johnny._

Jonathan found himself clenching the fabric, a familiar feeling welling within his chest.

 _It's you._

"March Hare?"

Jonathan ignored the voice, closing his eyes to let a thumb run over the stitching and letting a wave of nostalgia run over him. Two months away from the mask almost had him forgetting the only sense of emotion he was able to feel: excitement.

Crane reached in once more to grab a canister of his own toxin, once again remembering that joy of creation. He turned, looking down at the fallen doctor who trembled under his gaze. Approaching in slow purposeful steps, he watched the psychiatrist quickly crawl away in a terror so pure it was almost… delicious. And yet, when he got closer, he found that he felt nothing for the terrified man; none of that sadistic glee he enjoyed so much in his past. He felt empty; unfazed by the sight, ergo he was unfulfilled.

Tucking the canister and mask away in his pockets, he looked to Jervis. "We should get going," he said simply, ignoring the questioning look of his friend and exiting through the door.

When they got back, they were met with the barrel of an ice gun, before Freeze relaxed. "Oh, it's just you two," Freeze said, lowering his weapon. "My apologies. I am only being cautious." He was outfitted in his metal suit once more, a thin layer of frost already beginning to form along the inside of his helmet and goggles fitted over his eyes. Jonathan merely nodding in understanding, throwing an annoyed look at Joker, who clearly looked disappointed the two weren't killed right then and there.

"Hatter, good to see you're up on your feet again," Riddler spoke, still outfitted in his Arkham attire due to time constraints. "We blew a hole in the wall over in the maintenance room. We'll need to move quickly to avoid as much guard interaction as possible before we get to the end of the island."

"And once we get to the end of the island?" Harvey grunted, picking up the gun from a fallen guard.

"Just leave that part to me," Mr. Freeze said simply.

As they ducked out into the glimpses of freedom outside, up above Ivy was glad to see the sight of a gas canister sitting by a grounded helicopter on its pad. She had only just began to help Baby and Harley fill Firefly's jetpack whilst the pilot in question fitted on his helmet and connected it to his oxygen tank. They only got a bit in before Ivy was faced with the barrel of a gun.

"Hands off the gas, lady," Scarface commanded, causing Harley to leap to her feet with raised hands in defense. Ivy only paused, glaring up at the Arnold and the doll to say, "We need the gas for Firefly's jetpack."

"Well we need it for the helicopter," Zsasz snapped, backing up Scarface as Pyg stood tentatively by said copter. "So I suggest you hand it over before we have to hurt one of you."

Firefly knew Ivy could handle the three, and so he continued to fill his jetpack. Pamela gazed up at Zsasz with an angered look, slowly rising to her feet to be at eye level with the serial killer. "Excuse me?" she snarled, not flinching as Zsasz's hand tightened around his knife. She didn't notice Arnold and Scarface slowly moving slowly towards Harley. "I'm not some sack of meat you can threaten, Zsasz. I'd stay in your lane before I show you what I'm capable of."

"Or we can just take it," Scarface spoke up, now standing by Harley, "NOW DUMMY!" Arnold swallowed forcefully, forcing his eyes shut as he grabbed a shocked Harley by the arm and shoved her off of the roof of the building. Harleen screamed in terror, thrown off her balance and unable to save herself from the sudden shift in force.

The moment she heard Harley's scream, Ivy snapped her head to look at where her other had just been, a look of horror crossing his face. "HARLEY!" she screamed in devastation, allowing Zsasz to grab gas an run.

As soon he heard Harley plummet, Firefly knew he only had seconds to react. Yanking the gas valve from his jetpack, he sprinted for the edge of the roof, not hesitating in his decision to dive straight off. Even through his helmet he could hear Quinn's shrieks below. "C'mon, please start," he whispered, gloved hand fumbling on the side of the jetpack as the underused machine was struggling to ignite the engine. Had anyone been watching from the ground, they would have seen two people hurtling toward the ground at lethal speeds. Luck was on Firefly's side that night it seemed as his large metal wings suddenly unfolded and spread out on either side of him, the jets roaring to life.

Harley saw her life flashing before her eyes as the ground neared, and honestly, she could have done better. All these years under her belt as a villain and she had yet to get ahold of that red and green swirled Ring Pop she had been planning to use to propose. And yet, she found herself being given another chance. Just before she hit the ground, she found herself being swept from her fall, soon hugging onto the giant metal angel that was Firefly. She looked down to see the ground just feet below them. "Wow, fire face, good job on keeping a lady waiting!" she complained, playfully smacking his helmet several times. "Now c'mon! We don't wanna keep Red waitin'!"

Fueled with both gasoline and adrenaline, Firefly only responded by shooting up back to the roof, where a shocked Ivy seemed ready to yank Firefly down to get to Harley herself. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Harley was out of his arms and into Poison Ivy's, who could only stare ahead, still in shock from nearly losing the one she loved. While Harley barely seemed disturbed, Ivy couldn't help when her hand tightened around the loose Arkham uniform Harley donned, as if taking time to process that she was really there.

Firefly watched Scareface command Arnold around, whistling underneath his helmet as he waited for Ivy and Harley to have their moment together. As soon as the plant woman pulled away, he placed the flamethrower in her hands. "Okay so you're gonna want to press the side button here to activate the flame," he instructed, "but you flip the latch when you're ready to release the gas, alright?"

Ivy was admittedly startled to have the fire machine placed in her hands, almost shoving it back for being offered a monstrosity that was used to burn down forests and slash and burn those she loved. But then she realized that Scarface was _right there_ and she had a flamethrower _in her hands_.

"HEY DUMMY!"

Scarface was just about to enter the copter when he was called out, spinning around in alarm. "Who said that?" he snapped. "Yous betta not be talking about Scarface 'fore I make ya into Swiss cheese!"

Ivy just flipped him off before pulling back the latch, allowing the gas to funnel out and a twenty foot torrent of flames to spew out of the nozzle. Arnold was only barely able to duck out of the way, and even there the napalm infused in the chamber caused the fire to stick onto the dummy's face and latch onto the spinning blades of the copter. He desperately tried to put out his boss, but was forced to stop when Zsasz forced into the copter before anymore damage was done to the vehicle.

Harley clapped in excitement, giving a good "THIRTEEN OUTTA TEN!"rating for Ivy's performance. Alright, I feel better," Ivy huffed, throwing the weapon back to Garfield who clipped it to his weapon back onto his belt. He scooped up Baby Doll and placed her on a wing and telling her to hold tight, all the while he had Ivy secure herself on the other wing and Harley was in his arms.

"Alright ladies, hold on tight. Gotham, here we come!" Within seconds, strong jets lifted them off of the rooftops, and with all the ladies holding on tightly, he laughed and quickly left the rooftop and flying over the waters that surrounded Arkham's secure walls, soon disappearing as a speck of light into the night.

Down below, Jervis was glad to finally be back to his old self once more, cheerily putting control cards on the heads of guards to keep the five of them safe so Freeze wouldn't have to waste his ammo. Getting to the edge of the water was easy when Jervis was practically making his own personal bodyguards with the flick of a wrist.

Upon getting to the shore, Victor motioned for everyone to take a step back at he aimed his weapon at the incoming tides of water that threatened any thoughts of escaping. With one pull of the trigger, a white blast shot out of his weapon, soaring though the air and landing in the water. Instantly the water began go freeze over, creating a quickly forming circular bed of ice so thick it could probably be driven on. Freeze took a few steps forward, planting a boot on the ice and proving it was strong enough to withstand his weight. A few more blasts. A few more blasts and he was slowly beginning to make a path towards Gotham. Joker pumped his fists in the air, nearly hitting Edward in the face in the process.

"And how do we plan to get over the ice, exactly?" Nygma asked, arms crossed as he was forced to move several inches to the side.

"You lot can figure that out for yourselves," Joker winked, before motioning to his shoes. "I'm the one with the ice cleats! See you later boys!" With that he leapt onto the ice to run after Freeze.

"The ice looks thick enough to drive on," Dent said, looking down at the ice after watching Joker and Freeze stand on a concentrated spot. "We can steal a car from the garage and get out of here in no time."

"Driving? Over ice in the ocean? You're out of your mind if you think I'm just going to go through with that," Edward scoffed.

"Edward," Jonathan said with a clearly exasperated sigh, catching said man's attention. He let out a small "hmm?" to which Jonathan replied bluntly, "Shut up and let's just go find a car."

Edward's brow shot up in angry surprise, a little to taken aback by Jonathan's sudden backtalk to react to himself being grabbed by the wrist and tugged back to the Asylum. Jervis and Dent merely looked at each other before following after.

The chaos had spread to the outside, with guards losing the upper hand for how sheerly they were outnumbered. Even still, they had to make a run for it to lessen the chance of being spotted by a guard or a trigger happy inmate with a gun. As soon as they were in the garage, guns of the carded guards were pointed everywhere, only to be met with knocked out men and hardened clay and dust smudged all over the walls and ceiling. The large, droopy form of Clayface was quick to for his arm into a spiked hammer, bringing it down and nearly hitting a guard.

"Karlo, stop! It's us!" Two Face snapped, walking past the monstrosity that was Clayface to get to one of the vacant vans.

Clayface seemed to realize his mistake then, quickly making sure they were in the clear. "Alright, we're good to go, you two," he called out, before his gut thinned and Anarky and Blackfire dropped out of his muck. Edward could really only stare in vague disgust as this happened, watching Anarky come to a stand and cough up a bit of clay. "We were inside you for FIFTEEN MINUTES!" Deacon Blackfire could be heard groaning into the floor, his hair and robes absolutely dirtied.

"Hey hey, I gave you pockets of air. Be more grateful, will you?" Clayface scoffed, shrinking down to make the form of a guard. "You still have those keys on you, Machin?" Lonnie nodded, bringing out the keys he had taken off of the guard, fiddling with the car remote until one of the work trucks meant to transport supplies beeped on the floor above them.

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra spare set, would you?" Jervis asked, lighting up after seeing the keys. Machin unfortunately shook his head, but mentioned that one of the guards they had with them could have a set.

"We also have room for one more," he then mentioned. "One of you can tide with us while you three can find your own ride."

Jonathan, Edward, and Jervis all looked over at Harvey, who in turn looked to them. It was already wordlessly stated that Harvey would be the one to go, and so he did, running after the three. The three experts of their craft were always known to be more familiar and work better with one another, after all; once together, they were unlikely to split apart until they were in a safe location, solely for safety purposes. Crane's weapons, Edward's quick thinking and knowledge of Gotham's layout, and Jervis' expertise in mind control were fairly well fitted when brought together, making them more likely to survive together.

Jervis was already talking to one of his puppets about their ordeal, quickly obtaining a pair of keys. "With a guard up front, we should be able to get through the gates without having to rely on unstable ice. Do you think your rabbit here is going to be able to drive us across the bridge back to Gotham?" Riddler asked, to which Jervis nodded confidently.

"Oh, my dear mouse, you underestimate my work," Jervis tittered despite his exhaustion, motioning for two guards to follow and the rest to stay. Thankfully the car they found was a van, allowing them a place to hide while the guard drove them out. Edward and Jonathan got in the back while Jervis made sure the guards had their cards hidden and told them what to say when they got to the guard at the gates. He had them get in the front while he sat in the back, glad that the van was fitted with a light up above, allowing them to see each other clearly.

All three were silent, stock still as the van slowly moved backed out of its parking spot and slowly out the garage. As they sat, Nygma found it appropriate to whisper "If we crash because he's driving on the left side of the road, I'm never helping you two again."

The van stopped after a while, muffled talking being heard from outside the vehicle walls. All three held their breath, knowing this was the ultimate test of Jervis' abilities. This went on for about a minute, before the van started moving once more and they were allowed to relax once more.

"Wonderland, next stop! _Tickets, please!_ " Hatter giggled, gently grabbing onto Edward's sleeve and giving it a playful little tug. " _Now then! Show your ticket, child!_ " Riddler blinked and searched his pocket until he found the wrapper of a peppermint and handed it over with a "Here you go." Jervis looked down at the wrapper, a little confused, but decided to just tuck it in his pocket for a later time. He looked tuckered out, despite his cheerful demeanor. His eyes sagged and his posture was uncharacteristically slouched to show the extent of his exhaustion. They were all tired, what with the running and avoiding guards, but no one had quite the experience like Jervis.

Edward smiled somewhat, glad he would be free soon enough, but he hesitated to celebrate until he felt Gotham's chilly air run through his hair and was once again back in proper attire, free to plot as he pleased. Still, his good mood was soured just knowing that Crane was glaring at him from the other side of the van. "Is there a problem, Jonathan?" he hummed, crossing his arms and bringing Jervis' attention to him. "I would think you would be grateful you're finally getting out of that rat den and back into Gotham."

"I would be more grateful had I not been the only one oblivious to a sudden breakout," Jonathan replied, not fazed by the passive-aggressiveness Edward constantly exuded; the puzzle-maker was akin to an air freshener continuously pushing out traces of salt, sass, and sarcasm into the air. Eventually your senses just dulled to it.

"Well, Joker gave you the option," Nygma said innocently. "And what did you say? Oh! I remember! You weren't interested. You're lucky Joker and Harvey didn't leave you behind."

Jonathan was unconvinced. "Oh? And did you give our dear Hatter that same option when you decided to use his illnesses as a tool?" he pressed. Jervis' expression quickly fell, confusion now dominant as his attention turned to his Dormouse. Edward had to stop, tight-lipped as he regretted bringing it up. Never go head to head with Jonathan when he had something over you, because he wasn't afraid to drop it at the most inconvenient times. He threw his hands up, letting them fall into his lap. "Not even going to wait until we got out of the van, I see?" he huffed, looking down at the Hatter. He knew it was a mistake, and yet he still did it anyways. Jervis had a way of making you feel things you didn't want to, even without the control cards or the hypnotism. It had to be because of just how child-like he could be sometimes, reflecting the innocence and the naivety one would only seen in a young man. Seeing Jervis look at him with such hurt, hand to his chest and eyes searching Nygma for even a sign that it wasn't true. It broke Riddler.

"Fine! Yes! I used you," Nygma confessed. "So? How many times have you two used used the minds of your victims for your own uses? You would rather be back in the asylum, forced to talk to a doctor whom doesn't understand you and pushing pills that won't fix what's really broken inside? I _saved_ Jonathan's life, and yet I can't have this? Jervis, you're _free_ ; what's one shutdown compared to freedom once again?"

He then looked at Jonathan, gesturing to him. "And you. When did you get all high and mighty, looking down on us as of you're somehow above us? You of all people should know what we need and how we function, and yet you berate me like I'm some sort of child during his first time stealing from the candy jar. You think you don't need this, too? That you're suddenly 'fixed'? Fine, go ahead and reform. Become the man you once were in a sea of simpletons who will never understand who you are, but don't you dare look at me so condescendingly when we're in the same escape van heading into Gotham."

Edward let out a dramatic sigh, evidently at the end of his rope and exhausted as well. Jonathan said nothing, looking away. He lost the glare and simply decided to leave it for another day when they were well rested. Jervis seemed to have nothing to say, either, no longer looking hurt like before, but seemingly far more exhausted now. While he looked tired physically, he was no doubt more so emotionally.

The car was silent once more. The only sounds were of passing cars and tires on the road. Jervis seemed close to falling asleep against his green-favoring friend, but all were jolted into alertness upon the van hitting a speed bump and making a sharp turn. Everyone in the back was lurched forward considerably and slid to the right side of the van, some cables and a ladder moving over to bump Edward on the foot. Without warning, he let out a yell of pent up frustration. "I will _never_ understand why they don't put seatbelts in the back of these things! Augh, it just grinds my gears!"

There was a moment of silence from the other two while Edward angrily kicked the ladder and folded his arms. Then came a _snrk_ from Jervis. "Something funny, Tetch?" Edward huffed, twisting his head to glare over at the Hatter.

"Oh! My apologies," Jervis hummed, rubbing his tired eyes. "I didn't mean to laugh. I just haven't heard you use a metaphor quite like that before." He smiled wearily, hoping he would understand. "I would think you would come up with something more creative."

"Creative? Like what?" Edward asked, looking at Jonathan for some sort of explanation.

"I think he means another form of the saying," Jonathan shrugged. "Something like, 'that really salts my apples.'"

Edward stared at Jonathan, and he stared for an uncomfortably long amount of time. "Really?" he said finally. "Salts my apples? _Salts my apples?_ I have known you for over a decade and yet that is the most southern thing I think I've ever heard you say." He saw the doctor roll his eyes, and yet he continued. "No, I would never use that sort of phrase. It doesn't suit a mind such as mine. You also have to take in account that Jervis is British; he wouldn't understand it. You have to tailor it to something that suits his fancy; something that _sours his tea_."

Jervis was so tired he couldn't help but let out a titter muffled by a hand. "Come now, Dormouse, I've been in this country long enough to adopt your sayings," he reasoned, giggling in between words as he was reaching a punchline. "It takes more than that to _wrinkle my American flag_."

Edward immediately buried his face into his hands to hide any reactions. "This is all so idiotic," he mumbled, a chuckle evident in his voice nonetheless.

"Indeed," Crane agreed. "They're absolutely grating in my ears. They really… _foil my evil plans_."

Jervis had to muffle his laughter. "Now _that_ was awful! It really—" he took a moment to breathe in between giggles, "— it really _breaks out of my asylum_."

Jonathan had to lower his head and stare at his lap while Edward was too exhausted to hide his laughter. "I can't believe I'm laughing at you two idiots," he groaned. "I guess you could say it really—"

"Edward, don't."

"It really—"

"Enough, Dormouse!"

"It really _colonizes my preexisting countries_."

Hatter let a loud shriek of giggles, giving Edward a shove. "That's too soon to joke about!" he complained.

Edward grabbed the top hat off of the Hatter's head and smacked his arm with it. "Jervis Tetch, it has been three centuries. Get over it!" he grinned, handing the hat back soon after. "Jervis, are you _crying_?"

"No no, he's right," Jonathan butt in, the corners of his mouth. "You must be more relevant. Something we still talk about. Something that really _Brexits my EU._ "

"HARE."

Jonathan looked away from Jervis, feigning ignorance.

"DID YOU."

Jonathan couldn't help it. He buried his face into crossed arms.

"JUST SAY."

Jonathan's chuckled could be heard despite his attempts to hide it.

" _BREXITS MY EU?_ "

By this time Edward was into full on laughter, giving Hatter a shove on the shoulder. "I will not be caught because of you," he hiccuped, wiping watery eyes. "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that's the peak of where we're getting tonight. Let's just get to Jonathan's hideout so we can sleep and go back to glaring at each other in the morning."

Jonathan couldn't agree more, simply nodding and beginning to tell Jervis the address.


	7. The Tiresome Nature of Hiding at 6 AM

"This is it."

Edward waited until the van had come to a stop before putting his hands on the handles to the double doors. "And you're sure there are no cameras?" Edward asked, looking back with a raised brow. Once he was given confirmation, he opened the doors to see a small two-story building. All lettering had been pried off of the front, but they were still able to read "Lab 2C" from the faint impressions. The place was surrounded by grasses and farther away from the densely packed area that was Gotham.

Edward looked around silently before gesturing for the others to follow after. "Let me guess. Research lab?" he asked, looking back as Crane got out of the van with a very tired Jervis, who held his aching head as he followed along.

"College-funded laboratory, to be exact," the good doctor explained. "Dedicated to studying biodiversity within insect cultures and whatnot, which is why it's placed in a fairly forested area. It hasn't been used in years, so before I came across it it was used as a meth lab."

"Ah. How pleasant…" Hatter murmured, able to show his slight disgust through his exhaustion and pain. Through his headache from his latest episode, he still had the clarity to finish his end of the journey. He turned to move to the driver of the car, quickly telling him that he could go park in a lot somewhere several miles away. When he returned to them, Jonathan was already moving to the front door. "I assume they've all gone on their way?"

"Oh, I've made sure of that," the scientist sighed and nodded, his naturally stolid demeanor fading from having burnt so much energy. He grabbed a key from within a bush, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. He paused before letting them in, pointing to the door he was holding. "I've painted this door and all the windows with a powder finish made of my toxin. If you touch them without gloves, you're going to get the toxin in your system."

Edward fully expected Jonathan to then walk in and close the door behind himself as some sort of cruel joke, but perhaps he had been around Joker for too long. They were let inside a dim and dingy building where dead roaches and rats were abundant, most likely after getting into some toxic chemicals. Crane gestured them to an armchair and wooden chair to sit in while he hurriedly walked upstairs.

"Okay… I know I'm not the cleanest," Edward said slowly, looking around in clear disgust, "but… come on."

Jervis waved away his friend's clear disgust, walking over to a small TV to inspect it and give the couch a little nudge with his foot. "Oh, it isn't so bad," he reasoned, turning just in time to see something fairly large scurry behind Edward. His eyes widened slightly, causing his friend to in turn give a worried look and glance over his shoulder, barely missing the raccoon. "Oh, it was nothing," Jervis laughed nervously, wincing in slight pain from his headache as he was alleviating the other's worries.

Jonathan had come back down, handing both men a gas mask, much to their clear worry. "I'm going upstairs to check to see if all my chemicals are in order and preserved and to find a spare phone. If you hear an explosion, smell fumes, or hear glass breaking, you'll want to put those on." He then left once more, leaving the others downstairs with widened eyes.

"I think working for Scarecrow has a higher mortality rate than working for Joker," Edward said, slowly, kicking the armchair to make sure any roaches and rats were quickly out of there so he would be able to sit. Jervis would take his chances on the wooden chair. Both waited patiently for Jonathan to return, staying silent just so they could hear what was going on upstairs and stay alert for any breaking glass.

Crane soon came back, typing a number into what seemed like an old bulky Nokia phone. Jonathan put the phone to his ear as he heard the ring, noticing Edward staring at him oddly. "What?" he asked, brow raised, before looking at the brick in his hands. "What? These phones can last two years with the power on. Simpler is better at times." There was a pause. "Oh don't give me that look. I don't need a supercomputer to do my work." When the phone clicked on the other end, he put up a finger for everyone in the room to be silent. "Ah, Rockwell! I've recently gotten out of Arkham and I need your assistance to get everything up and running and keeping a lookout for police. I'll—" He stopped, pulling the phone away from his head to look at the phone oddly when he heard a woman's voice on the other end. "Oh! Mrs. Merhi, er, me desculpo. I, ah… yes— I mean, si, si, Matías jefe… um… le das el… teléfono a Matías?"

Jervis audibly snickered a ways away at Crane's inability to communicate in another language and look so awkward whilst doing it.

There was a moment of silence before Crane sighed once more. "Ah, Rocky, finally… yes, I'm back… I need your assistance… just come quickly. Police are about, as you know."

"Get him to bring some food," Edward said from the chair, catching the glare from Jonathan. "What? We just got back from a breakout in Arkham Asylum. I think we should have a period where we can rest and also not starve."

With a roll of his eyes, the Scarecrow covered the receiver of the phone. "Fine. What do you two want? I already know Jervis wants tea and some pain reliever for his headache." Rocky was left waiting on the phone for a little while as the others discussed what they were hungry for. Despite the receiver being covered, the he could still hear what was being said as he walked outside, throwing his shotgun in his trunk and putting the gas mask around his neck. "We're not doing pizza. Anything but," he could hear Nygma say as the henchman diligently put his coffee in the cupholder. Even as he was driving down the road, Jonathan could clearly be heard saying, "On what planet is there takeout ramen at two in the morning?" By the time he had reached the store, the conversation had switched to, "Fine, Chinese it is. With extra fortune cookies for Hatter since he enjoys them." He was already bought the tea packets and pain reliever when Crane was saying, "I'm not getting you extra fortune cookies, Edward. You just want to criticize the fortunes inside like you always do." By the time Rocky had gotten to the 24/7 Chinese place, the tone had shifted once more. " _Five_? You want _five_ boxes of rice? What on Earth are you going to do with _five_ boxes of white rice, Tetch?"

"What can I get you?" the young cashier asked, as Rocky walked up. The henchman just sighed as he laid out a paper of foods, some scribbled out, rewritten, or had multipliers in front of them.

"You want _how many_ packets of soy sauce? You do realize how much sodium in that?"

Rocky sighed, asking for an extra takeout bag that he began to use solely for holding a good handful of soy sauce packets.

"No Jervis, they have forks. It's fine that you're uncomfortable with using chopsticks."

Rocky went back and pulled out his wallet, deciding to hand over a hundred just to be safe.

"Is that all? Are we sure? We're sure? Alright. Okay, Rockwell, you should perhaps write this down."

"Go ahead," Rocky nodded, already loading the car with Chinese food.

It was a large order, so it was a surprise when there was a knock at the door so soon. Rocky came in with all their food, most of it belonging to the two guests while two boxes were Jonathan's. "Good, you're here," Crane sighed, helping him in. "I need you to assist me in getting the utilities back on, as well as to get rid of some of the bigger pests."

"And a more comfortable chair than this stiff old thing," Jervis suggested, patting the chipped wood of his chair.

Jonathan looked at the man, brow raised. "I believe I still have a dirty wooden chair with straps to tie down your wrists is that suits your fancy," he suggested, quickly walking upstairs. "No? Well there's a bush outside. Rockwell, get things started; I need to get out of this uniform."

As soon as Jervis was alone with Edward, he gave him a worried look, face scrunched as if to ask if he had said something wrong. "Don't take it personally," Nygma assured him, opening a box and already digging his chopsticks in. "Crane is not a man who prioritizes comfort; he parades around in a burlap and straw costume, after all. He'd be perfectly happy with an inch of hay on concrete ground."

Tetch seemed somewhat confused, until he'd remembered that small cathedral outside his friend's old home. Cold and concrete, with the only friends of yours being crows. Crows that hurt you.

Hatter found himself staring up at the room Jonathan had entered into, watching him walk out soon and hook his glasses on the neck of an orange sweater with auburn stripes, donning black trousers and worn shoes. Fall colors, he noted. He had to wonder if it was a conscious decision. Crane always seemed to favor such warmer colors, ironic given the cooler season. Tetch wondered how hard it would be to retrieve some orange thread.

"So you just have one oaf with you to do all your work?" Riddler asked, breaking Jervis from his train of thought. "With your reputation, I would assume you'd have more."

"More guards attract more attention and also pose a greater threat to my own safety," Jonathan replied simply, digging in the grocery bag to hand over a bottle of water and painkillers to Jervis, who happily took a couple without hesitation. "Besides, when you're strapped in terms of funds, one is simply a more appealing option. One still needs to pay for chemicals and the like." Since there were no seats, he just decided to stand while grabbing his food and a fork. "Besides, I have different needs for my henchman. The Hatter likes his because, well, he gets lonely."

"Pardon me?" said villain scoffed, brow raised. After a moment of thinking over it, however, he slumped back in his seat. "Well, yes, I do get very lonely," Jervis admitted, "but you two never call or visit; what else can I do?"

Edward was unable to formulate a response to such a question, instead glancing at Jonathan to see if the Scarecrow was any better at dismissing the rather awkward question. Jonathan, in turned, paused in eating his own food, clearing his throat to properly focus on answering the question. Jervis' sullen expression showed he already knew the answer, but was still appreciative of an answer nonetheless. "We simply have different goals than you do, Tetch," Crane finally responded. "Yes, while we are considered villains all the same, Nygma would rather spend his time scheming to weed out the idiotic fellows of Gotham while all you seek is companionship through an Alice."

" _The_ Alice," Jervis corrected, a soft smile crossing his face as he looked up at Jonathan with a beaming expression that he could only code as a _knowing_ glance. Jonathan grew stiff at the look, setting down his food. "Well, I believe I'm done for the night. I am going to get some rest upstairs. Should any of you need anything _reasonable_ , Rockwell is currently being paid to assist you through your temporary stay." Just as abrupt as the announcement was Jonathan's walk back to the stairs.

Edward watched the taller villain walk back upstairs before taking a glance at his food. "He ate two bites," he noted, not even waiting for Jonathan to be out of the room before making his criticism known, not that Crane would care anyways.

Jervis immediately knew he had done something wrong then, though he was a bit confused as to what. He had begun to learn a few of Jonathan's unconscious quirks over their time working together, and a sudden stiffness was an indicator that he was uncomfortable. Tetch paused, swallowing down a bite of food before going and grabbing Jonathan's food. "I'll be back in a second, Dormouse," he mentioned quickly, heading up the stairs and into the room Jonathan had disappeared into.

Jonathan had only just seated himself in his swivel chair when he heard the door creak open. He already knew who it was from that stiff silence; Edward always had a habit of barging in with a lecture on his lips, but Jervis always fancied himself as a more polite and restrained soul when it came to the people he considered friends. He looked back over thin frames after putting his glasses on, watching Jervis stand there silently with the box of rice for himself and Crane's own food. "I said I was going to get some rest," Jonathan said flatly, but Jervis grimaced as though he knew better.

"People don't wear glasses to get rest," Jervis pointed out, nudging the door slightly closed with his foot so they could at least have some privacy. Jonathan's expression twitched darkly, and yet Tetch had no fear in walking over to hand him the box of food. Digging through his own rice, he hesitated to ask, but soon forced himself to look up at the other's criticizing and loathing eyes. "Did I do something wrong, Hare?" he asked softly.

"You're intruding on my privacy, Hatter," Jonathan only replied, expression not shifting. He always had a way of looking at you in a way that made you feel small; like you were nothing. It was a mix of being unimpressed and subtle loathing that Jervis didn't quite like being on the business end of.

There was a moment of silence.

"Is this because of how I approached you in the Asylum's exercise yard?"

Jonathan expression broke as he quickly spun around in his chair to face away from him, letting out a heavy sigh. "Listen, Tetch, I can't say I understand how you feel," he confessed. "These… _emotions_ you want to bring into our partnership is not something I am interested in or have ever been interested in. Knowing these ulterior motives you carry, as well as what you are capable of, makes me less than comfortable in working with you."

"All because of these feelings I harbor for you?"Jervis asked, sounding bewildered. To Jonathan, however, it was more than obvious that it was exactly how he felt.

"Yes!" the doctor near cried, turning around with an exasperated look. It was almost as if the topic itself was exhausting to him. "Jervis, after our last escapade, I don't feel comfortable with even letting you _believe_ we have such a relationship. I can never willingly give you the emotions you want from me."

"You mean love?" Tetch asked, to which Jonathan put up his hand up quickly to stop him right there.

"Don't you even _imply_ that's what you feel for me," Crane spat. "But if that is what you want from me, I'll cut myself off from you now. You yourself know how dangerous you can get the more you are attached to someone, but for the love of Batman himself, I never even _imagined_ I would be the subject of your doting."

"But I don't expect love from you," Jervis argued. "I don't want it from you if it makes you act in such a way!"

"Then what do you want from me, Tetch?"

There was a moment of silence as Jervis clamped his mouth shut, head turning away from Jonathan's piercing gaze. It wasn't a question he had anticipated, truthfully, and yet Jonathan pressed on.

"Tell me," Crane repeated. "What do you want from me?"

For a few more moments, Jervis felt like he was back in class as a young man once more. The professor would ask a question to the class, the silence telling him that no one had studied up on the subject, and yet the professor continued to wait for an answer nonetheless. He supposed it was fitting; old habits refused to die for a man who was once a teacher and a psychiatrist. Jervis pressed back to the wall across from the silent man, slowly sliding down until he was sitting and staring blankly at his rice, searching the white grain for some sort of answer.

After a minute, an answer came from a memory.

"Do you… do you remember back when you were my doctor?" Jervis began softly. "We had started a schedule where I was your last patient of every Thursday."

"5:30 PM every week on the dot," Jonathan recalled with ease despite it having been over a decade ago. "We had agreed to meet at a nearby old-fashioned café you enjoyed going to. What about it?"

"Do you remember our first meeting in that café?" Jervis asked then, smiling fondly as he stirred his fork around his rice. "Gotham's weather is always so unexpected. One moment its raining and within the next hour the sun could be bearing down at you with no remorse." He finally looked up at Jonathan, a small smile gracing his lips. "You had forgotten your umbrella."

Jonathan was still visibly unsure of why this was being brought up, but still played along in spite of it. "Yes, I remember. I blame myself for not looking at the forecast earlier that morning believing rain wouldn't touch a cloudless day like that. Needless to say, it was pouring."

"And you got dreadfully soaked from head to toe!" Jervis tittered.

"The shop was on the border of the university with no parking whatsoever," Jonathan scoffed, looking away. "I enjoy my coffee black; do I _look_ like someone who would travel to a café for something two dollars more expensive than what I can make at home?"

"I prefer the atmosphere, Hare," Jervis hummed softly, "and quite the atmosphere it was! Stark silence as you walked in, looking quite like a wet dog as you brushed your matted hair from your eyes."

"And you, being the gracious little Brit that you are, immediately grabbed all the napkins you could carry to try and dry me off," Jonathan added, a small upward twitch coming to the edge of his lips. "Just before the owner forced us out front onto the patio so I wouldn't ruin the carpet."

"And do you remember what I said to you?" Jervis whispered, legs crossed as he was more focused on Jonathan than on eating his food. "Just after you finished your apologizing and got the last wet napkin off of your chest?"

Jonathan was unable to reply this time, furrowed brow clearly showing his fruitlessness in attempting to recall such specific details from such a long time ago. "No, I do not," he answered honestly, noticing how Jervis failed to get upset despite it. "Would you like to remind me?"

Jervis nodded as he ate a bite of rice, taking his time to chew and swallow before answering. "I told you that I wanted you to be comfortable. I don't want you to feel like you have to disregard your own needs for me as if its some sort of chore. That's why I chose the café, so we could be in a place where the atmosphere was nice and comfortble. I hated to see you always look always so professional, and seeing you relaxed was something that made me feel relaxed." He paused, giving a sheepish smile. "Of course, I then learned in subsequent meetings that you _never_ look relaxed, but my feelings are still the same." He brought his gaze to the doctor once more. "I want you to be comfortable around me; I don't want you walking on eggshells around me as if I'm something you would rather not be around. I want what we had back on the road trip."

"We had nothing in the road trip," Jonathan argued.

"Oh yes we did," Jervis scoffed playfully, waving off his argument. "I heard you laugh, I saw you cry, and by the Queen's name, I got you to _trust_ me, and that is far more rewarding than any love that could be given to me. I want that again, Jonathan. I don't want you to ignore what happened between us; and yes, while I will not deny my feelings, I stand by what I say." He gave Jonathan a genuine smile. "All I ask for is your company again, just as you let me become yours when we first started that car ride."

Jonathan was quite for several moments, trying to process all that was told to him as he watched Jervis. "I want you to understand where I'm coming from," he said finally. "I am not used to… _this_ ," he explained, gesturing to Jervis. "To this… affection you insist on showing. These feelings that you convey. I can't recall the last time someone was genuinely interested in something other than my ideals or my philosophy or my knowledge because there is nothing _to_ be interested in." He paused, letting out a soft sigh. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he grabbed the food left on his desk, swirling chow mien around his plastic fork. "I enjoy solitude. My interests are limited to the human mind and chemistry and not much else. I also happen to be an evil genius who enjoys experimenting on the fearful of Gotham. People don't… talk about me the way you do or look at me the way you do, and even now, I refuse to believe that your feelings are nothing but a result of your clingy delusions for some sort of love interests. Hell, I'll admit, I didn't even know you were _interested_ in men until now. Yes, I know, all the odd comments about Batman should have tipped me off, but pondering another's sexuality isn't exactly something I enjoy spending my free time on." He stopped to take a bite of food, choosing his next words carefully. "After… what happened in the church, I don't believe I will ever be comfortable letting you anywhere near me or my things again."

Jervis frowned, but still had a certain hope in his eyes as he set his rice down and got up to approach Jonathan. He left a couple of feet of space for the doctor's sake. "Would you at least give me a second chance? Not as some sort of interest, but as a friend once more? Would you allow me to try and regain that shard of trust you had in me? It's all I hope for."

They gazed at one another. The doctor's expression always seemed to be unimpressed no matter the circumstances, while the hypnotist kept this bright gleam in his visage that always brought a more upbeat spark to his character. Despite Jonathan still silence and loathing-seeming stare, he slowly nodded. "I understand where you are coming from, Tetch." He set his food down and got up to his feet to look down at the smaller man. "I am in a very… odd point in my life, I must admit, and while I have a difficult trusting the words of anyone, I nonetheless hear you, and I will acquiesce. If this is really a goal you insist on pursuing, I will not stop you." His eyes narrowed into a far more serious glare. "But this stays between us, understand? If I hear Edward speak a word of this, I swear on whatever messed up matriarch you believe in, they will _never_ find your body."

Despite the threat, Jervis let out a sigh of relief from a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Ah, thank you," he whispered, giving an eager nod. "The Dormouse won't know anything about it, that much I can assure you." He grinned, looking tired and happy all at the same time. "Now can we go back downstairs so Edward can be assured that you're alright?"

"You think he cares?"

"I'd like to believe so, yes," Jervis nodded. "Besides, the Haigha? Tired? I could never believe such a thing from a messenger of the Queen, you silly rabbit!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes, but grabbed his food and followed him down the stairs nonetheless. Edward was already back on his feet by that point, dusting off an old laptop Crane recognized as one he hardly used even on his busiest weeks. "Ugh, has Crane ever heard of getting upgrading?" he complained to the henchman that was working on getting the Wifi up and running again. "I swear this man is living in the dinosaur age with the technology he keeps around."

There was a clearing of someone's throat from up above. Edward looked up disinterestedly to see Jonathan glaring down at him from halfway down the staircase. Edward stared back for a few moments before going back to talking to Rocky. "I can be old fashioned myself at times, I will admit, but a computer this old will haunt my sleep for weeks."

"Thank you for the information," Jonathan sighed, finishing his descent with Jervis as he continued eating.

"Ah yes!" Jervis gasped, playfully shielding Edward from Jonathan. "Cover your fair eyes in the teapot, Dormouse! Lest the Hare haunt your sleep with visions of Commodore 64 or that abhorrently obnoxious AOL start up sound!"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Edward scoffed, a bit of humor in his voice as he nudged the smaller man aside. "Speaking of sleep, I thought you were getting some rest, Crane."

"That was my intention," Jonathan replied, leaving his fork in his food to smoothly remove his glasses and hook them on the neck of his shirt. "Unfortunately this little crumpet insisted I stay up, so I might as well not let this food go to waste."

Edward had finally gotten the laptop to start up, going over to sit on the armchair and allowing Jervis' pink-dusted cheeks to go unnoticed. "Ugh, finally! Now I can email Cobblepot's associate; I'd like to meet with Penguin as soon as I can. As well as look up a few things that have been itching at my brain. Crane, what's your password?" Figuring most of the information in the laptop was either outdated or of no use to Edward, Jonathan obliged, came up behind him, and typed in the password quickly before going back to his food.

Crane noticed a bit of light making its way into the lab, the first signs of an emerging dawn, and to that he let out a ghost of a smile, quickly busying himself with more food. Finished with his first box of rice, Jervis went about grabbing another before going off to seek Rocky. "May I inquire about when the electricity will be working once more?" he asked the henchman, who was fiddling with the power box. "I would like to make myself a cuppa tea soon enough."

"In a bit," Rocky grunted, flipping a few breakers and checking over the wiring. "I'll let Mr. Scarecrow know when it's up and running again." Jervis nodded in appreciation, going back to the main room to see Edward staring at his computer blankly. "Oh my oh my! Is there something wrong, Dormouse?"

Jonathan seemed uninterested in the conversation, merely watching the pink hue begin to paint the ground where it could reach. Edward, however, only looked at the screen. "Jervis, could you remind me what you called me a while back? It was a British slang, I remember. You said it stood for a 'clever and intelligent person' or something to that effect?"

Jervis took a moment to think of what his friend was talking about, before his face lit up at remembrance, before falling back once more. "Oh! I— er… believe it was 'wazzock', Dormouse. Errr, why do you ask?"

Edward just read aloud what he saw on the screen. "Wazzock (plural wazzocks) (Britain, originally Northern England, mildly derogatory, slang) A stupid or annoying person."

Jonathan paused in his eating to slowly look over at Jervis curiously, whose face had become a surprising shade of red in such a short amount of time. Edward looked up with an offended raise of his brow. Before he could even speak a word to the hypnotist, the Hatter put down his food to quickly pull his hat down over his eyes in embarrassment. "I thought you would have forgotten all about that by now!"

"Edward? Please, he doesn't forget anything," Jonathan scoffed. "If he doesn't know something for sure, best believe he'll look it up in the future. But I think Edward is more concerned about whether you think he is the _stupid_ portion or just the _annoying_ one."

Edward quickly stood up in his own defense. "I am neither, thank you very much!" He looked to Jervis, looking almost _hurt_ by the revelation. "Jervis! I would expect someone using foreign diction against me would be Bane or even Cobblepot, but _you_? I trusted you!" It was obvious he was hamming it up a bit to further Hatter's embarrassment in order to bask in some sweet revenge. He soon sat back down, however, going back to his original plan of emailing Cobblepot. Don't be mistaken; Edward was beyond offended at the very insinuation that he was dumb, but given how tired they all were, to was too much to go on about at 6:00 AM.

"Trusting Jervis not to say anything nasty?" Jonathan scoffed, already heading towards the door to head on outside. "Please. I think not. The man may be as posh as they come, but he'll always find a way to insult you no matter if its in Wonderland speak or just old-fashion British slang."

Jervis quickly caught up with him, giving him a look that was _trying_ to be angry. "Oh shush you!" he huffed, causing Jonathan to stop dead in his tracks.

"I don't suppose I made the little crumpet upset, did I?" Jonathan scoffed, not seeming to care much for Jervis' embarrassed frustration.

"Oh hush you— you—!" Jervis searched his mind for the best insult he could make in a two second time period. "— you nasty strumpet!"

There was a pause. Jervis' expression remained frozen in his own surprise as his mind reeled in horror.

"I'm sorry, _what_ did you call me?"

He had gone too far. What kind of gentleman was he, going around calling people that sort of slang was crossing the line far too much. What was he thinking? It wasn't even true!

"No, honestly, what did you call me? I don't know what a strumpet is," Jonathan repeated, brow high as Jervis blinked away his own surprise.

"It's quite like a crumpet," Jervis lied quickly. "Same batter. Cooked a little differently, but still good." He made a face. "What? You call me a crumpet all the time! I can't do the same for you?"

Jonathan looked ahead, brow up slightly in that sort of "huh" expression one gets upon learning something vaguely interesting. "I've never heard of that before," he shrugged, heading back outside once more. "Then again, when you grow up in the south, knowing anything foreign may as well be a sin."

Tetch let out a silent sigh of relief, quickly following after him with his rice. He had to admit he was a bit curious as to why Jonathan was going outside when it was already so cold, but the answer came in the form of a familiar loud call of a bird.

A smile broke Jonathan's otherwise stolid expression as a crow came down and landed on his shoulder, picking at his hair with their beak as a form of a greeting. Jervis had to take a small step back to allow a few more crows to flock down, settling on the ground and trees close by, including a familiar, large one-eyed bird that tried to make a nest out of the doctor's thatch-like hair.

"Yes yes, you've found me," Jonathan hummed, stretching out his arm to allow a crow to land on his wrist. Jervis watched, observing the way Crane's usually stiff voice seemed to relax just slightly at the appearance of his feathered friends. It reminded him of their time spent back at Jonathan's childhood home, where they fed peanuts to the flock of hungry crows. Jervis had felt as though he saw a part of Jonathan not many were allowed to see, and even now, it felt special seeing the way Jonathan treated the birds as if they were old friends.

"Mmm, you saw me yesterday; no need to get so excited about— Katrina, get off of my hea- _Katrina! Off of my head!_ "

Jervis stifled a laugh, looking around at all the birds and noticing the several odd looks he got from them. It was clear they weren't as familiar with Tetch as they were with Crane, and finding it only appropriate to do so, Jervis let Jonathan have some privacy and went back inside the open doorway to check on the Dormouse.

"Isn't it surprising how fast time flies outside of Wonderland?" Jervis hummed to Edward, sitting back in the wooden chair. "Time never did such tricks for the poor Hatter! No, instead he enjoys making us always drink our tea after I had attempted to murder him!" There was a lack of a response, and so Jervis looked up curiously to see Edward finishing typing. Had he even heard a word of what he'd said?

"And… send," Nygma finished, sending the email. "Given that we just broke out of Arkham, I expect that Penguin will want to wait a few says or so before meeting up." He looked up at Jervis. "Do you think I could convince Crane to buy a mattress in that time?" He quickly got back on the computer to begin typing in something else.

"Looking up mattress prices, are you?" Jervis chuckled, kicking his legs idly. He let out a soft yawn, signaling he was at the end of his rope in terms of energy. As much as he found himself a bit disgusted by the state of Jonathan's lair, growing accustomed to Arkham's dingy setting allowed him to sleep almost anywhere. _Almost_ anywhere, he reminded himself as roach skittered out of view from the emerging sunlight. "A futon perhaps? That seems like a relatively cheap option."

"No. I'm looking up the definition of 'strumpet'," Edward replied, finishing with what he was typing and reading over the screen. Just the way his eyes widened slightly said it all. There was a stillness in the room, only broken when Edward flicked his eyes up to watch Jervis watching him his face plastered with a red hue.

"Dormouse," Hatter said tentatively, "you can't tell him. He will kill me." He had only just made amends the best he could and he would off his own head before Jonathan found out what he'd just called him.

"Oh, I know," Edward said softly, putting up his hand as if to reassure him. Tetch let out a relieved sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. "Oh joys! Because—"

He was interrupted by a certain distinct sound he knew all too well; anyone who had gotten out of their seat too fast would recognize the delayed _thump_ of the chair leg lifting at the force and quickly falling back to the ground. The leg didn't even fully settle onto the ground before Jervis nearly toppled over his own seat trying to tackle Edward before the deranged man could get to Jonathan. Edward collapsed to the ground with the weight of a fully grown hatter on his back.

"TETCH!" Edward snapped once he had been able to regain the wind knocked out of him. "GET OFF OF MY BACK!"

"You're going to tell Jonathan!" Tetch claimed, slapping the back of Edward's head repeatedly to keep him from crawling his way to the back door and to Jonathan. "I need you to promise you won't tell him!"

"Like hell!" Edward scoffed, quickly rolling over to knock Jervis off. "I'm sick and tied of your British but linguistically foreign insults!"

Jonathan let out a soft sigh, a little annoyed when the crows pecked at his food, but he wasn't that hungry anyhow. It was just in their nature, that he knew; you couldn't ask a Hatter to quit his sewing or the Riddler to stop with his questions because it was simply in their nature. Still, unlike his two frequent partners, he preferred the more predictable nature of birds. Once you gained their trust, they would never think to—

"JONATHAN!"

Crane spun around, alarmed to see Edward panting at the doorway, looking disheveled. "What? What happened?" he demanded.

"JERV—"

Edward was cut off by a rather impressive tackle from the Hatter, causing the clattering and breaking of something inside the lab. Jonathan could only stare at the doorway in infinite contempt as the crows quickly flocked away from the noisy interruption. He had to take a moment to properly pinch the bride of his nose to further express his stress. "Children. I've been Shanghaied by children," he muttered just before storming inside to resolve the issue.


	8. An Apple a Day Keeps the Doctor at Bay

Jervis had to have rounded the lab at least three times, and by the fourth Edward had decided his ears were tired of the clacking of polished black dress shoes on the dirtied lab ground. His eyes peered up over the laptop, watching Jervis look in places he'd already searched, as if whatever white rabbit he was chasing would suddenly be there. "Jervis, what are you looking for?" Nygma finally sighed, closing the device and setting it aside. "It better be more than just a figment of your imagination."

Jervis shot his head up from under the table to look at his companion. "Oh! Am I bothering you? I'm quite sorry, my dear Dormouse, but I was just wanting to look for any type of bottled drink to shrink my growing problem." After a good five seconds of being stared at questioningly, Jervis cleared his throat. "Er, I was looking for first aid for my wound. I would like to redress it so infection doesn't become another one of the king's memorandums."

"Why don't you go ask Jonathan then?" Edward suggested, to which Jervis could only give him a sheepish look.

"Ohhh no no no, I couldn't," Tetch murmured, biting a knuckle of his uninjured hand. "He hasn't come out of his room in hole in two days! One would think he wouldn't be disturbed."

It was day five of their stay at Jonathan's hideout, and while his guest were out and about trying to message contacts, the man himself had holed up in the room he'd claimed for privacy. Jervis knew without having to be told that it was because of the effects of withdraw from his medication, a problem that the unmedicated Edward couldn't relate to. Jervis knew better than to bother a fellow rogue when they were going cold turkey, but a lingering part of his brain couldn't help but fret that he may be rotting up there. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? After all, he'd kept Edward from speaking about the _strumpet_ incident. Had he looked it up while he was up there? Jervis dreaded all the possibilities, deciding it was better if he hadn't the slightest idea.

"You really are a mystery, Tetch," Nygma sighed, coming to his feet and going over to ascend the stairs. "It's medical aid. I doubt he would mind."

"Oh! Dormouse, you really shouldn't—"

"But I am," Ed interrupted, approaching Jonathan's door. "Look, you're only making things more difficult by beating around the bush. You just need to confront Jonathan, get the aid, and get out. After all, the faster you do so, that happier he'll be happier that you've left quicker." He opened the door and stepped in. "Watch, I'll show you that it's not that—"

" _GET OUT OF MY FOOM NYGMA!_ "

Edward stumbled out, just barely ducking in time for a glass beaker to dart over his head and smash against the railing. "You know what? Never you mind." He slammed the door shut just in time to hear glass shattering against the other side.

"Oh yes, Dormouse, such sound advice indeed," Jervis mocked from the floor below. "Though I do believe you forgot the first aid."

"Oh quit the sass," Riddler snapped, looking over the railing to peer down at him. "I misjudged how civil he would be whilst coming off of his medication. A mind such as mine needs no type of chemical support in order to function properly. I suppose it goes to show just how advanced I am compared to you all."

Jonathan then came through the door, wincing at the bright light that penetrated his shrouded room. "There is no strong correlation between madness and intellectual capability, Nygma," he murmured, carrying a first aid kit down the stairs and to Jervis. Dark circles under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep, and the perpetually bitchy look he donned showed he was letting it get to him.

"Ah, and the Scarecrow rises once again," Riddler scoffed, watching Jonathan sit Jervis on the armchair so he could go about redressing the would on his hand. "You're not going to throw a flask at me again, are you?"

"Now that you've woken me up and continue to keep me awake with your boisterous conversations? No," Jonathan responded dryly, cleaning the wound before grabbing the bandages. "My symptoms are at a dip at the moment, so I'm taking this opportunity to eat and go about while I still have the will to tolerate you both."

There was a huff from the more intellectual of them. "Do you have enough will to go to Penguin's?" questioned Nygma, who made his way down the staircase. Upon getting that silent questioning look for his elaboration, he went on with, "Oswald has gotten back to me and notified me that he and I can work something out in terms of finding a new hideaway for me. He's also willing to talk to Jervis about the same, but along with that, he told me that he wanted to speak to you specifically."

To this, there was a uninterested grunt from the man in question. "I'm not doing commissioned work at the moment," Crane dismissed, finishing up with Tetch's hand and putting the supplies away.

Edward shook his head at that, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. "No no, more like someone wants to get in contact with you," he clarified. "A message of sorts that is too compromising to be put over email."

After the supplies were put up, Jonathan took a moment to think over it. "Fine," he said simply, "I can drive us."

"In your condition? I don't think so," Edward scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you careened us off a cliff if Jervis talked a bit too loudly."

Jonathan opened his mouth to argue, but it was Jervis who interrupted with an opinion of his own. "Oh you silly little strumpet, just let him drive; it will save you the headache and allow you some time to rest." Jonathan was tight-lipped, but quickly relaxed, nodding to the Hatter's logic. "Fine. Let me find something to eat before we head out." He stood up fully and looked down at the Hatter. "Try not to use that hand, you little crumpet," he ended, finding the food name-calling to be a bit more relaxed and appealing. It made him feel normal almost, trading silly little insults with the Brit, and he would be lying if he said he didn't like Hatter calling him something other than 'Hare' for once, even if he didn't know what a strumpet was. As he turned to walk to the kitchen, he couldn't help but notice the giant grin that had spread across Hatter's cheeks at the little name.

* * *

Edward was glad he was the one driving, as it allowed him to concentrate on something other than the vomit-worthy back and forth between the passengers. Occasionally Jervis was shout out a little Wonderland reference, and in turn Jonathan would go about acknowledging it as if it were actually something that merit discussion. Every so often Edward would internally wince at that word said: strumpet. Jonathan obviously had no clue what it actually meant, and by this time Edward was just waiting for the right time to tell Jonathan in secret so he could see the man throw a fit. Jervis had adopted the term like some sort of pet name, and with reason. Every time it was said, a small upward twitch would come to the corner of the Scarecrow's mouth, just barely noticeable, and it was gone as soon as it appeared. It made sense; unlike nicknames like 'Hare', Jonathan interpreted 'strumpet' as some sort of playground insult you would throw at a companion; something that meant offense but wasn't to be taken seriously or be intentionally hurtful, quite like what 'crumpet' is to Jonathan. Which, by the way, crumpet _isn't_ , as it turns out after a quick Google search. Even still, such an unprofessional and playful banter between the two was a bit jarring to see, showing Nygma what he'd missed during that road trip he'd been left out on. Had the snippet of their conversation been uploaded online, it could be interpreted as just two grown friends messing with one another. While such an act was common for Jervis, it was a far cry from Jonathan's humorless demeanor, and if he were to be honest, it disturbed Edward somewhat. He'd seen plenty of villains try to go on the mend, but this was the first time he'd seen it up front and actually believed it could be successful.

These were the thoughts that plagued Nygma's always busy mind, harried by the need to make such small observations and code it accordingly. It was a relief when he finally pulled into the Iceberg Lounge, able to step out and away from the conversation, even if he was a bit curious to learn more about Jonathan's changing demeanor.

It was dark and the line for entry was packed, but three were let in without question, allowed to bypass all the other Gothamites vying for a chance to be let into one of the city's most high-class establishments.

The Iceberg Lounge was brimming with guests, all in such fair attire chatting lightly whilst they mingled about, showing that the property was no rowdy nightclub that was growing in popularity within Gotham. Ice was obviously the main theme, the entire room decorated to in soft blues and whites to portray a scenic atmosphere without any of the coats needed. The centerpiece of the beautiful establishment was an iceberg, of course, and a real one too boot, surrounded by a pool of water that was roped off. Along the circular walls of the club were small little secluded rooms small parties could reserve for a truly high-class experience. Only one room could not be bought out, as it was reserved for a special type of guest, and there the owner of the club was, talking to one such guests.

Oswald sat in one of his deep red booths, secluded on nearly all sides from within the cordoned off VIP was an older bird, gray hairs already intruding in on once raven black hair. He was a short-statured man, an inch shy of Jervis' height, really. His teeth unconsciously chewed on the end of his skinny cigarette holder, taking a small inhale after a while to relieve tension. His eyes wandered from the dimmed and darker-toned room and over to his guest, letting out a steady puff of smoke to keep his resolve. "A hundred thousand. No more."

Lawton scoffed at the price, taking another swig of his beer as a subtle show of his contempt. "What are these crumbs, Oswald?" Deadshot tutted, swirling his beer in his glass to gauge how much was left. "You know my price on politicians. Half a million or you can eat it."

Oswald bit the mouthpiece to hold his tongue. "He's not even in office. Just a candidate feeding off of the scraps of those actually doing the job."

"He's a politician all the same," Floyd stood firm, not budging from his original demand.

"And that's absurd,"Cobblepot protested. "I seriously don't consider your services to be worth the price for such an unknown target. I can have a man do the job for one percent of the price."

The assassin took the moment to finish his glass, setting it down as though he owned the table he sat at. "You wouldn't be coming to me if it wasn't worth the price," he pointed out. "You're already on watch with the police, Penguin. You know how I roll: no evidence, no connection to you, and I never miss a shot. You can't get it better than me. The question is how much you want this man dead, short stack."

Oswald started to speak, but cut himself off upon seeing a familiar puzzler walk in with two guests. "Hmm. There is something I must attend to," he told Deadshot. "We will discuss this later. In the meantime, help yourself to the bar; it's all on me." He got up from the booth, going over to greet the newcomers.

"While its vestigial wings prevent this bird from soaring in the skies, he certainly has taken flight over Gotham;" Edward recited proudly, "who am I?" Looking over at the approaching Penguin, he couldn't help the grin. "Ozzie. Good to see you on the outside again." He flicked his gaze up to where Cobblepot had come from to notice the world's greatest assassin. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Oswald looked back at Deadshot, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "Eddie. What a pleasure it is to have you here again. Don't you worry about that; Lawton is being a bit difficult, so I'm hoping some alcohol will make him a bit more reasonable. But until then, I am more than happy to speak with you three." He turned to Jonathan extending a hand. "Dr. Crane, how nice if you to join us. Pardon me saying this, but I'd believed you weren't coming."

"I believe you wanted to inform me of something face to face?" Jonathan inquired, ignoring the outstretched hand.

Despite Crane's rather cold demeanor, Oswald hardly seemed bothered. "Of course, of course. We'll get to that first. Before that, however, how could I forget to greet a fellow compatriot?" He turned to shake Jervis' hand. "Tetch! Looking as spiffy as always, my dear fellow. Keeping well, I hope?"

"Of course, my dear caterpillar," Jervis grinned, quickly taking up the chance to shake the man's hand. "I haven't been quite better! How good it is to be back in Wonderland once more."

Penguin merely chuckled and nodded, looking up at Crane. "I'll speak with you first given it's a quick little message. Professor Pyg stopped by three days ago. Needed help in acquiring a refrigerated truck, for a price, of course. Anyhow, he mentioned you, saying that he had something of yours that he wanted you to come pick up whenever you were able."

Riddler jeered at Crane then. "You didn't leave a piece of your ribcage back there, did you?" Jonathan's unamused stare got him to move on. "I'm guessing its some leftover fear gas," Nygma continued, looking at Oswald. "Anyways, shall we talk about finding a new property that will become my lair?"

"Oh of course, of course," Oswald agreed, "come with me to the main room. We'll discuss there. Jervis, you should tag along for this. As for you, Jonathan, you're welcome to help yourself to the bar while you wait for these two to be finished. No doubt you all share the same ride, telling from your tired expression."

"Joys," Jonathan sighed, the only bit of sarcasm he could muster up in that night put into that simple word.

This brought out a laugh from the most jovial of them. "Oh don't be so blue," Hatter tittered. "An old strumpet like you will certainly find plenty of mis—…chief…." Jervis' face fell in that moment, realizing he was in the presence of a fellow Brit. He was right to be horrified, too, as the way Oswald's brow shot up and his cigarette holder dropped from his agape mouth said it all.

Jonathan was quick to catch on, realizing then that he was on the end of some sort of joke. "Oswald, what did he call me?" he requested.

Cobblepot shook his head, turning to go back to Deadshot at the bar. "Oh no, I'm not going to be a part of this."

Jonathan wasn't having it. He grabbed Oswald by his lapels, aggressively bringing him closer. "What did he call me?" he demanded once more.

At this point Edward was nudging Jervis out of the room. "I really think you should start running."

"Nothing!" Penguin replied, struggling to get out of his grip. "It's nothing, hones—"

"TELL ME!" Jonathan snapped, voice raised so loud even those outside could hear him.

"Gah! He called you a very promiscuous woman or prostitute!"

"He said _WHAT_?!" Jonathan let go of Oswald to snap his gaze towards Jervis, who squeaked in fear and scampered out of the room. Crane wasn't having it, however, and quickly gave chase, running after the smaller man with what probably was intent to kill.

"Sorry! Whoops! Excuse me ma'am," Jervis excised himself politely as he moved through the crowd of bystanders. Crane was a whole other breed as he full on shoved partygoers out of the way just to get at Jervis' throat. Tetch saw this and quickly picked up the pace, running as if he were going to die if he were caught, which was probably the case.

Jonathan had to have followed Tetch a full rotation around the centerpiece of the ballroom when he ducked under the velvet ropes to run along the pool of water that encircled the iceberg. He kept a steady pace, however, so as to not slip on the wet spots of the floor by the pool, and this is where Jonathan failed. Shoving the rope over his head, Crane saw how close Jervis was and didn't hesitate to jerk at the man. He slipped on a puddle of water, however, and Jervis just barely got out of the way for Jonathan to stumble forward, hit the edge of the railing, and dunk his top half of his body is the freezing cold pool of water.

Jervis took a step back, covering his mouth in a loud gasp, but the sound was muffled by the erupting laughter of the crowd. Jonathan pulled himself out of the water, only to be greeted by the boisterous mockery of the people around them. He regretted moving his we hair from his eyes, as he was now able to see it for himself, some covering their mouths in order to stifle their giggles while other pointed and let their laughter be known to the whole crowd. Humiliation immediately filled the villain, whose first instinct was to hide his face in his hands in a fruitless attempt to hide away and disappear. He clenched his teeth, those bouts of laughter becoming even louder at his clear embarrassment. Jonathan Crane, the fearsome Scarecrow, tripping and dunking himself into a pool of water. Perfect fruit for the picking, and pick on the man they did, laughing long after Jonathan had started stumbling away from the scene. He had peeked just enough to see Edward and Oswald watching from the VIP room, with the Penguin placing both hands over his mouth whilst Edward full on buried his face in his hands as he shook with laughter. Jonathan wanted to just disappear. He wanted it to stop, but it seemed never ending. Water poured from the drenched man, so it was no surprise when he slipped once more and fell to the ground, engendering even louder mockery from the crowd. His face was hot. Anger and humiliation was all he could feel. He wanted to leave, but they wouldn't move out of his way. He felt trapped, forced to stay in place and be subjected to the torment like some unwilling clown. Finally he mustered up the courage to push past them and walk to the restroom, unable to escape those haunting giggles even past their walls.

Jervis looked on in horror, immediately going after the man, but he was stopped by Edward. "I really wouldn't," Nygma advised. "I think you're the last person he wants to see right now."

Jervis pulled away, however, guilt eating away at him. "Oh, but it was my fault! The least I could do is help him!"

"Yes, it is your fault," Ed agreed, tugging him back to the room, "but it won't be my fault if he kills you, so I suggest you get back and wait until he cools off before attempting an apology." Jervis hesitated, looking back at the bathroom door, but figured in the end that his friend was right and went back to the cordoned off room.

Penguin was there, speaking with an employee. "And see if you can find any dry spare clothes for him," he was saying. "We want to mitigate the chances of the Scarecrow's brand of revenge happening. Oh! And make sure we comp all who had been accosted in the scuffle. And get me another cigarette while you're at it." As the employee walked off, Penguin turned to his guests, looking tired. "As much as I do enjoy watching a good thrashing, I would prefer it not be someone as vengeful as the Scarecrow," he huffed.

Jervis put a hand to his chest, face showing pure guilt. "Oh my dear friend— I must apologize! This is all my fault," Tetch admitted.

Penguin seemed to already be one step ahead, quickly changing his tune. "Why yes, it _is_ your fault," he snapped, shoving a thick accusing finger into the man's chest. "And if he decides to wreak havoc on this place because of _you_ , it's going to be _your_ head, do you understand me?"

Jervis was taken aback, swallowing his words with a nervous nod. He was surprised by how quickly Penguin could change his tone, but he was always known as a cutthroat man. You can't be forgiving and still have a reputation like Oswald Cobblepot; what he lacked in height he more than made up for in tenacity. Oswald took a moment to collect himself, taking in a steady breath as he closed his eyes. He held out his hand and an employee quickly placed another cigarette holder in between his fingers, which he gladly took a puff from. "Now, I suppose we should get on to the reason you're here, shouldn't we?" he murmured, before gesturing for them to come into the main room as he talked. It was partly so he could walk and talk while being unable to be listener in on due to the chatter from everyone else, and partly so he would be able to see Jonathan coming if such a thing happened. "Come along, we have much to discuss. Nygma, we must speak about a few jobs I need done in exchange for a place, and as for you, Jervis, we can get onto your _unique_ set of skills in a bit."

Jervis took a hesitant look back at where Jonathan had entered, before nodding and following along.

* * *

Jonathan was glad he had shorter hair than, say, Jervis, as it allowed him to dry his hair faster than usual.

He let out a sigh, staring at the heavily bagged eyes of himself on the mirror. He looked so tired, and yet he kept a still face, not letting anyone see the humiliation he felt deep inside. One thing he had learned over the years is that those vying for a reaction should never be allowed to see how he felt. He took a steady breath, taking a hand to feel over his now dry clothes. They weren't his usual style, unfortunately, what with the button up dress shirt and slacks he'd usually don as a professor, but it was better than freezing to death in wet clothing. Still looking into the mirror, he let his gaze go back to the man who had assisted him, who was now standing awkwardly in a corner, not saying anything.

"Why are you still here?" Jonathan prodded, turning to look at the man properly. "Is there something else you need? Or is Penguin just trying to make sure I don't gas the entire building?"

The waiter seemed uncomfortable with the question. He was a younger man, probably in college. "Just… just trying to see if you need anything else, sir," he answered, not looking Jonathan directly in the eyes.

Crane stared at the man for a few moments before slowly approaching. "Are you in college?" he asked, and from the closeness of his voice, the man visibly flinched. "S-second year, s-sir," was all he could respond with. That stutter had a small effect on Crane, making him feel a small bit better. So he continued with, "And the old man you work for? Is he fair?"

To that, the young man perked up. "Oh! Mr. Cobblepot? Oh he's completely fair, and- and—" It wad clear he was making up words to try and put himself in a good light with the bird. It went from a pleasant fuzziness from the fear to a quick annoyance. Jonathan shut him up when he handed him a twenty dollar bill. "This is for bringing me properly fitting clothes and a towel," he said bluntly. "I know the Brit isn't as accustomed to tipping as we are, so don't do anything stupid and tell him you have it just to get it taken away." With that he walked out, quickly ducking into the VIP room again so he could get a drink. He didn't intend to come out until Edward was back; he was pretty set on leaving Jervis here without a ride just to make himself feel better about the whole ordeal.

He sat at a stool at the bar counter, and just by looking at the stool beside him, he was able to gauge how long he'd been in the bathroom. Deadshot was somewhat tipsy at this point, obviously taking advantage of the free alcohol Penguin had offered. After a moment, Deadshot looked over at the guest.

"Crane?"

"Lawton."

"Hey, it's been a while," Floyd chuckled, gesturing to the bartender for another glass. "Surprised you've crawled out of your hole so soon after the breakout. What's Penguin trying to get you to do? Gas a factory or something?"

Although Crane looked unamused, he wasn't opposed to talking to the fellow rogue. He looked to the bartender. "I need a drink. A strong one. Doesn't matter what kind." As the man went to get him a drink, he looked to Deadshot. He was about a decade younger or so; older than Harleen, but still old enough to be the father to a growing girl. He had buzzcut short hair and a bit of facial hair, but it was better than Crane could ever do. "Well I did just come out of an Asylum," he replied, "so nothing should ever quite surprise you about me."

Lawton let out a "HA!" before taking a swig of his new drink. "True! True."

Jonathan let out a slow breath, looking over the other man. "How's Zoe?" he asked, which immediately rewarded him with a suspicious stare. "I wouldn't have become a professor if I didn't care for the future generation at least an ounce," he defended himself then. "There are times where it's nice to come back to a sense of normalcy, and you're the only person I can really ask that question to in my situation."

"True," Deadshot agreed as he looked ahead, taking another quick drink. "She's doing fine. Just entered high school. A really smart girl, I'll tell ya… and her mother recently got another boyfriend."

"That has to sting."

"A little," Floyd admitted. "But one misstep and I'll have the pleasure of ending their relationship with a bullet."

"No payment? Surprising." Crane found himself strangely invested. He supposed it was in the normalcy of the conversation that hooked him, other than the assassination part. For a moment, he felt like just a man in a bar, listening to a father talking about his kid as if it was a casual outing.

"Pfft. Killing him is payment in itself." He looked to Crane. "So, tell me, you need someone assassinated?" he joked. "I'll get it done."

"Oh you know I don't play that way," Jonathan countered, now in a considerably less friendly mood now that the subject had changed. To this, Deadshot gave another nod, saying, "Yeah, you're more of the torture type, aren't you?"

Crane finally got a shot of whiskey, quickly knocking it back without hesitation. "Though, I can't say I'm not considering it at the moment," he murmured after catching his breath. He slid the glass away, quickly catching Deadshot's expression change to one of piqued interest.

"And just who is this man?" Deadshot prodded. Jonathan rolled his eyes in annoyance, resting his chin against his knuckles as he drummed his fingers, waiting for Edward to get back. Still, Floyd went on. "You already know my rules by now, I'm sure. If they're under eighteen, they're off limits. Half a million for politicians, and its extra if outside of Gotham." He noticed Jonathan's annoyance and prodded further, nudging Jonathan with his elbow, much to the other's distaste. "C'mon. There has to be someone. I don't even have to kill them. Maybe just wound them a bit. Whatever it is, I can get it done— I never miss a shot." He then went back to his drink

And it was in that moment that Jonathan got an idea. A horrible, evil, nasty idea. A grin split his face, an expression that he almost never let show to the public. It wouldn't go away, and he didn't try to push it down, feeling too gleeful to try. The Scarecrow had thought of something utterly sick in that moment.

"I would hire you," Jonathan sighed, catching the man's attention, "but I mean, only if you were more a reliable hitman." He picked at the dirt under his nails, pretending not to see Lawton's changing expression out of the corner of his eye.

Now, Floyd Lawton was a man who took pride in his work; he didn't go through years of military training and working his way to the top just to be brushed off by a sack of hay that never realized it was too old for Halloween. However, instead of biting back, he simply gave an "Excuse me?" Jonathan recognized it as him giving Crane a chance to correct himself, but instead he doubled down. "You?" he scoffed. "Please. You can't even get a shot on the Batman; the man is so flashy he might as well be wearing a target." He eyed Lawton, sneering at him. "Sure you can take down a still person, but what use are you if you can't hit anything greater?"

He gestured for another drink, noticing Deadshot working his jaw silently on the side. Once he got his shot, he instead slid it over to the assassin. "I'm sure you couldn't land a single hit in your drunken state."

To this, Floyd immediately took the shot and downed it, pulling out his handgun that he kept on him. Without hesitation he put the barrel of the gun to Scarecrow's head, who showed no sign of being intimidated. The bartender gasped and ducked under the counter. "Want to test me, Crane? I could headshot everyone in this place and no one would have time to escape through the front."

Crane gestured for another drink and lifted his gaze to the gun, specially made just for a man like Deadshot to not be hindered by things such as thin walls or barriers. "No, that's far too easy," he reasoned. "I'll tell you what. We're both in Penguin's club, we've both had a bit too drink. How about a little test?" Once he got the shot, he slid it over to Deadshot. "There's a lot of rich folk here. Putting on a little display would certainly pique a few of their interests."

Lawton gave him a hard stare for a moment, before bringing the gun back, but not putting it away. He took the shot and threw one back, sliding it away from him as soon as he was done.

Crane looked around silently before spotting an apple on the counter, no doubt to add to cider for the fall season. Without hesitation, he snatched it off the polished surface before turning to grin slyly at Floyd. "Follow me. I know someone who would be more than happy to help."

* * *

Jervis clasped his hands together, listening intently as the other short-statured man spoke. Edward had just been finished speaking his part with Penguin, agreeing to another information-broker deal once more. It was Tetch's turn now, soaking in the information.

"It sounds rather simple, if I must say, Mr. Cobblepot," he couldn't help but note.

"Simplicity is sometimes the best option, my dear friend" Penguin chuckled. "I have a few boys needing to take care of some… business at Gotham City Bank. We're hoping to complete it by the end of the month. All I ask from you is that you work your magic with technology and drugs and whatnot, and see if you're able to make something that can help with a possible _bat_ infestation."

Jervis thought for a moment, trying to narrow down some possibilities for what he could come up with. "Did you have anything specific in mind?" he requested, but the way he began to fiddle with the rim of his hat indicated he was already working the gears in his head something fierce.

Cobblepot waved away the question. "Anything you can think of; we can discuss whatever ideas you have over the phone. But you have quite the talent for keeping the Batman distracted in his own head. Anything they can quickly use in case the Batman shows up as a way to keep him busy and confused for a long time would be most excellent. I would ask Crane for this sort of deal, what with his special toxin, but I fear Batman already has an antidote to whatever he can whip ip, so I'm hoping your expertise can be a bit more effective."

Jervis gave a huge grin, grabbing the other's hand as he was known to do when assuring someone. "I already have an idea. Don't you worry, my dear caterpillar, that Jabberwock will not do you men harm."

Oswald smirked, liking the more certain attitude Jervis displayed. It wasn't a "can" assurance, but a "will." He was more than happy to hear that, knowing he could trust the man to at least do his best, as he was always so genuine it was hard to call him a villain. He paused, however, when he noticed someone approaching.

Tetch let go of him, not noticing the crowd parting behind his back. He let out a loud "GAH!" as he was yanked back.

"Now now, hold still," Crane hummed, shoving the smaller man into a spare chair from one of the dining tables. The crowd had formed a circle around them, making sure to keep a considerable distance away so they wouldn't be affected by whatever Jonathan was planning to do. Edward and Oswald pushed into the eye of the crowd to get a gander at what was happening.

Jervis was befuddled. "Hare? What in the Queen's name are you—" He stopped abruptly when he saw Deadshot enter the area. His eyes widened and his heart sank and crashed through the floor. Jonathan was going to get him killed as revenge.

Crane pulled out the apple he had brought with him. "Floyd, I'm sure you know where this is going," he hummed.

"Oh it's a classic," Lawton agreed, his words slurring slightly, evidence he was a bit beyond tipsy at this point. "Want me ta shoot the apple off 'f his head 'r what's up?"

Crane grinned devilishly down at Jervis. Jervis recognized that look. Jonathan never smiled, and when he did, it usually wasn't good. He'd seen that look flashed at him a number of times, a sign the man was in a rather sadistic mood at the moment. "Not quite," he replied, sounding quite jovial in his actions as he slowly set the apple on Jervis' lap. Tetch's heart had now made its way through the Earth's crust at this point.

"Hare! Haha, you're being unreasonable, my dear Hare," Jervis tried reasoning, but Jonathan wouldn't listen. Instead Jonathan stepped behind the chair, placing his hands firmly on Tetch's shoulders to keep him on place before looking to Deadshot, saying, "If you can shoot the apple off of our dear Hatter's lap _without_ killing him, I will not only apologize, but I'd be happy to keep in contact with you."

Jervis' nervous laughter was no more as he was filled with dread. "Hare? Please, this is ridiculous— Hare, are you listening to— _Jonathan_ , _I'm sorry_! Please, don't do this!" He tried to move from his chair, but Jonathan kept him trapped in his seat.

The crowd was aghast, whispers among them, and yet they couldn't pull their eyes away, wanting to bear witness what was about to happen. Edward stepped from the crowd, mouth agape, but stayed back. Lawton looked over Jervis and scoffed. "I though this was gonna be a challenge," he muttered, before aiming the barrel of his gun at the apple centered in Jervis' lap.

"Jonathan! You've proven your point!" Jervis squeaked, terror gripping his heart. "Stop! Stop right now! Please! Would you really have me shot over an accident?!"

Crane thought for a moment before slowly leaning his head down to wear he could whisper something into the Hatter's ear. He hesitated, before whispering, "Yer gonna wanna stay as still 's possible fer this."

Jervis swallowed, realizing then that His pleas were going to fall on deaf ears. His eyes pricked with tears. He closed his eyes, unable to look at Deadshot or anyone else, wishing it was all just another one of his delusions.

Lawton looked over the target, eyeing it up and down. "Alright, if no one gets hurt, I suggest everyone move behind me," he ordered, and like the Red Sea at Moses' command, it was so, leaving only Jervis, Jonathan, and the apple before him. He once again aimed his gun at the apple, a smirk coming to his face. His finger rested on the trigger, and with that Jonathan's grin only widened in anticipation.

Without warning, Deadshot pointed the gun upwards and at an angle, firing without hesitation.

The bullet hit a metal beam along the ceiling, immediately ricocheting downwards and against a steel pillar, bouncing back and downwards before hitting the stainless steel of an Iceberg Lounge sign on the bar counter tilted up at an angle. The bullet bounced off, now almost horizontal and traveling downwards at an angle, its last stops blowing straight through the fabric and wooden backing of a dining chair and going straight through the apple on Jervis' lap before burying itself in the wall.

Deadshot spun his handgun around his finger western style before blowing out the smoke that rose from the barrel. There was silence as Oswald gaped at nearly having seen someone killed in his own lounge while Edward gaped at the impressive nature. And that his friend was alive; that, too. There was a thud as Jervis fell to the floor, having fainted. Or had a heart attack. It wasn't certain, and Jonathan didn't bother to check on him.

Jonathan looked at Jervis' fallen body, not even bothering to feign worry, before approaching Deadshot. "It appears I was wrong," he admitted. "Now, if someone could hand me a pen, we can exchange contact information."


End file.
